


Western Wisdom

by Anna_Blossom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, McCree is helpful big brother, Team Bonding, Team as Family, also featuring Dad!76, or uncle, rating because of some swears and violence, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Blossom/pseuds/Anna_Blossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of stories featuring Jesse McCree, Overwatch's resident gunslinger, dishing out some of that good ol' fashioned advice, mostly through the use of cowboy metaphors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "A lasso's not a dating tool."

“Anybody ever tell you a lasso’s not a dating tool?”

Lena’s head whipped around to face the grinning cowboy who was sans serape and armor. She gave him a little smile and a wave in return.

“Speaking from experience, luv?” She teased, smile growing as McCree laughed and moved to sit across her. They were inside the Gibraltar base’s dining room, if it could be even called that. The room was small and barely had enough space to fit in a table big enough for four people, which was probably why most of the members of Overwatch found their own places to eat at. That’s why it was just McCree and Lena, sitting down across each other, two mugs of coffee and a plate stacked with sandwiches between them.

McCree observed her carefully, noting how she seemed to be missing her usual energy. She's been like this ever since her last confrontation with the Widowmaker, the same woman who killed her husband in his sleep and was now Talon's best assassin. McCree knew she was the reason why Lena had been acting strange. Ever since Winston sent out a recall and reformed Overwatch, he's been noticing how determined Tracer had been to convince Widowmaker to join them and abandon Talon. He's noticed the little things, like the way Lena would volunteer to secure the rooftops, the way she would shout over the sound of gunfire just to have a one-sided conversation with the femme fatale, the way she wore a slightly defeated look whenever she watched Widowmaker go back to Talon.

“So?” McCree asked as he took a sip from his mug.

“Hm?” Lena paused as she placed another peanut butter sandwich on the stack, giving McCree a confused look.

“You _do_ know a lasso’s not a dating tool, right?”

Lena pouted, then shrugged and reached for her own cup of coffee, knowing that he was referring to her rather unusual relationship with the Widowmaker. “I’m not trying to _date_ her, I’m just,” she paused, taking a sip of her coffee, “trying to change her back."

"While trying to get her to kill you in the process?"

"What? No! It's just," Tracer bit her lip, "I _know_  Amelie still in there somewhere. I _know_ she could change if she just tries. And I want her to see that, as well. But so far, well, everything I've tried just goes balls-up." Lena's fingers curled around her mug as she stared at her coffee, looking frustrated just remembering her failed attempts.

McCree remained silent for a moment, knowing Lena was completely serious about trying to get Widowmaker to become Amelie again. He didn't know why she was so adamant about it, but even though he wanted to know, he wasn't going to ask because it was simply none of his business. So instead of voicing his inquiry, he sat back and chuckled, reaching for a sandwich from the plate. “Well, I reckon you annoying her to death isn’t helpin' your cause much.”

“But she never pays attention to me otherwise,” Tracer muttered, swatting his prosthetic hand away from the sandwiches, “and make your own, these are for Winston.”

McCree grunted, pulling his arm away. “He holed up in the lab again?”

Lena nodded. McCree sighed, taking another sip, before setting down his mug and looking directly at the Brit.

“Look. The problem here is that you have to annoy her to pay attention to you in the first place. You can't just keep on pushin' her buttons and expect to hit one that would just magically fix her,” he said, watching Lena slowly nod at his words.

“So what should I do then?” she asked, cocking her head sideways.

“I dunno, try using a fishing rod instead of a lasso?” he offered unhelpfully.

Lena gave him a deadpan look that conveyed just how unimpressed she was.

McCree sighed again. “You gotta be patient, darlin'. Stop tryin' to rope her into changin' herself right away, because change doesn't happen overnight, 'specially not with someone who's been brainwashed into becomin' some kind of super assassin. It's goin' to take time and patience, and you gotta accept that. But," he paused thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his mug, "I guess you could also start payin' attention to what she likes, find something that might motivate her to change her ways and all that.”

Lena looked, down silent for a few moments and McCree watched her think, drinking his coffee in the meantime. Suddenly she looked up at him, a grateful smile slowly forming on her face.

She stood up, blinking beside him, giving him a warm hug. McCree blinked at the suddenness of the gesture, and then smirked, patting her back once, before she blinked to the doorway, holding the plate of sandwiches. She abruptly stopped, as if remembering something important. Lena turned around, balancing the plate on one hand and giving McCree a two finger salute.

“Thanks, luv," she said, tone sincere and eyes warm, "I really needed that!”. She threw him one last grin, before cheerfully skipping out of the room, noticeably feeling better than before.

McCree chuckled to himself, downing what remained of his drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a little difficulty trying to write the relationship between Tracer and Widowmaker, to be honest. Hopefully it was passable.
> 
> So, basically this is just me trying to practice writing McCree interacting with people. Sorry if it may seem slightly out of character at times. As always, constructive criticism is highly appreciated :)


	2. “A halo only needs to drop a few inches before becomin’ a noose."

Angela sighed to herself, rubbing her eyes. She can’t sleep now. She was _this_ close to figuring out what was wrong with her Caduceus staff, why it wasn’t healing as efficiently as it should be. It was getting late though, so maybe a short rest would—

‘No,’ she thought, sitting up straight and shaking her head before inspecting the dismantled staff in front of her yet again. She had to fix it as quickly as possible. She can’t afford someone getting a serious injury just because her equipment wasn't working as it should be. She'll deal with the effects of exhaustion tomorrow. For now, she'll have to sacrifice one night of sleep to finish her work. Angela briefly considered asking Winston for help, before shaking her head. The poor man had so much going on already. Besides, it wasn't like this was something she can’t handle herse—

“So how’s it goin’, doc?”

She made a small sound of surprise, her hand finding its way to her chest, as she swiftly turned around to face McCree, who was leaning against the infirmary’s doorway, amused.

“Jesse! You scared me for a moment.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Just here to tell ya that it’s way past quittin’ time.”

“What do you mean?” Angela frowned then glanced at her wristwatch. It was 1:42 a.m. “Oh.”

“Yup,” McCree drawled in reply, spurs sounding as he approached her desk. He whistled as his eyes looked over her dismantled equipment. “That’s some mighty complicated tech right there.”

“It is,” Angela responded with a sigh, “and I have to find out what’s wrong with it immediately.”

“Wasn’t it working just fine this morning?” McCree asked, shooting her a confused look.

“No, well, yes it was working but it wasn’t working as efficiently as it should be. The healing rate has dropped for some reason and I can’t figure out why,” she explained, her frustration clear in her voice.

McCree gave her a once over, taking in her tired blue eyes and her blonde hair tied up in a messy pony tail. “Well, you sure look like you need to take a break.”

Angela scowled at him. “I can’t! I have to fix it—“

“A halo only needs to drop a few inches before becomin’ a noose, doc,” he cut in, brown eyes meeting hers. “You’re the doctor of this team. You oughta be taking more care of yourself. And who knows, fresh eyes might be just the thing you need to solve this little problem of yours, and fresh eyes are exactly what you’ll get after a good night’s rest.”

Angela bit her lip, thinking that the man had a point. She glanced over to her staff, then to her watch, before going back to McCree.

“Oh, alright," she sighed, ignoring McCree’s little victory grin. "I must be a bit out of sorts, especially if  _you_ are the one lecturing me about taking care of myself.” she teased, laughing when McCree gave her an exaggerated scowl. “And I suppose pulling an all-nighter would be quite hypocritical of me,” the doctor added, recalling the number of times she’s scolded Hana, Lucio, _and_ Winston for doing the exact same thing. “Let me just put this away and I’ll go straight to my quarters.”

“Sure thing, doc. I'll leave you to it,” McCree tipped his hat, before turning to leave the room. He was already by the door when he heard Angela.

“Thank you, Jesse.”

McCree turned his head to face the doctor’s gentle smile. He smirked and tipped his hat again.

“Any time, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon time:
> 
> \- Mercy calls everyone by their first names unless they specifically ask her not to  
> \- Mercy is a perfectionist, always making sure all of her equipment are up to snuff (so when her staff slows down even just the slightest bit, she resolves the fix it ASAP)  
> \- McCree totally called Mercy 'Angel' the first time they met) and that's what he's been calling her ever since then  
> \- During the early Overwatch days (back when Morrison was Captain America and Reyes wasn't such an edgelord) Morrison, Reyes and McCree take turns looking after Mercy (bringing her food when she misses lunch, getting her to sleep at a reasonable hour, etc.) because they know Mercy always puts the team's health first, sometimes forgetting her own health


	3. “Worryin’ is just like ridin’ a rockin’ horse. It’s something to do that don’t get you nowhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves for Dad!76 being Dad!76.
> 
> Also, I forgot to post this along with the first two chapters so... enjoy!

“You, you’re such a,” was all McCree understood before a long stream of Korean left Hana Song’s lips. And judging by her tone, none of what she was saying was pretty friendly. Soldier 76, on the other hand, seemed to perfectly understand her, as evidenced by him interrupting her with a curt ‘watch your language.’ He hummed thoughtfully around his cigar as he watched the young girl yell at Soldier 76 some more, before promptly turning around and stomping out of the shooting range, very much like a child throwing a tantrum.

“She’s too young,” Morrison muttered under his breath as he walked to join McCree on the metal bench he was sitting on.

“That she is,” McCree acquiesced with a small chuckle, “but you didn’t exactly start late, either, Commander.”

“I’m not your commander anymore, McCree,” the older man grumbled back, crossing his arms, “and I at least received proper training when I joined the army.”

“What makes you so sure she didn’t?”

“She was chosen to man a MEKA suit based on the fact that she was good at playing video games,” Morrsion growled out.

“Meanin’ she has good reflexes, amazing hand-eye coordination, and the potential to become a great fighter,” McCree countered easily, taking another drag from his cigar.

“Yet still inexperienced,” Morrison sighed, bringing up a hand and running it through his silver hair. “What was Winston thinking, dragging in all of these young people? There is just too much risk. And no one lives very long in our line of work.”

“You’re still alive, ain’t ya?” McCree smirked, knowing Morrison was probably scowling at him from underneath his visor. “Heck, look at Reinhardt. That ol’ horse ain’t gonna be stoppin’ anytime soon.”

“Exceptions to the rule,” the old soldier grunted out, but McCree swore he heard amusement lining his voice. “Besides,” Morrison added softly, “it wasn’t like I didn’t lose anything in return.”

McCree fell silent at that, knowing exactly what Soldier 76 was talking about. Jack Morrison used to have a family somewhere out there in rural Indiana and a plan to return to them as soon as he finished service. But that never happened. McCree vaguely remembered seeing the man slumped over a telephone, waiting for his call to connect, before trying again, back when he was still the newest addition to the team. He also remembered none of Morrison’s calls ever being answered. Not to mention, there was the whole mess with Reyes.

McCree understood where the other man was coming from. Lúcio, Hana, even Lena— they had a whole future in front of them. Heck, even Junkrat was just barely twenty-five years old. But he also knew that these kids had something to prove, something to fight for, and while McCree might worry for them, he wasn’t going to let that worry blind him from the fact that they _knew_ what they were in for.

“They might be young,” McCree drawled out, exhaling a drag of smoke, facing Morrison, “they might be a bit reckless, but they know what they’re doing, what the risks are. All you have to do is put your faith in them.”

“I’ve learned that putting my faith in people only gives them the chance to let me down,” Morrison replied bitterly, a far cry from the symbol of hope he once was.

"And _I’ve_ learned that most of the stuff people worry about never happen,” McCree shot back, extinguishing his cigar stub against the metal bench. “Look, worryin’ is just like ridin’ a rockin’ horse,” he said, flicking the stub into the trash bin in the corner. “It’s something to do that don’t get you nowhere, so just relax before they start doin' even _more_ reckless stunts just to prove you wrong.”

They sat in silence, Morrison silently mulling over McCree’s words, before the older man spoke up. “I’ve gotta say, I never expected to receive life advice from _you_ of all people.”

“Is that how they say ‘thank you’ in Indiana? If so, you’re welcome, old timer,” the gunslinger teased, his warm laughter filling the air when he got a grunt in return. Soldier 76 shook his head, and then got up from the bench, moving towards the door.

“I’m going.”

“Goin’ to apologize, I hope?” McCree asked, reaching for another cigar.

“Maybe. And stop smoking in the shooting range,” Morrison replied. “You’ll stink up the place.”

“Yes, _dad_ ,” McCree rolled his eyes at the man’s paternal tone, smirking, but he did put down his cigar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon time:
> 
> \- Soldier 76 sometimes gets too overprotective towards the younger members of the team (like Lucio, D.Va and Lena)  
> \- Said younger members, while they appreciate it, sometimes get annoyed by it and just rant about it to either each other or to McCree (and McCree feels them because he was once the target of that overprotectiveness during his Blackwatch days_
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Constructive criticism is always appreciated :)


	4. "Never take to sawin' on the branch that's supportin' you, unless you're being hung from it."

“So, come here often?”

Widowmaker tensed, instincts kicking in. She turned around and shot at McCree, who immediately dodged and hid behind a post in the empty underground parking lot.

“Whoa there! Just came here to chat, darlin’!” McCree yelled over her gunfire. The assassin narrowed her eyes and slowly made her way towards the post, heels clicking against concrete, rifle at the ready.

“Unluckily for you, I’ve no such intention,” she said, slowly nearing McCree’s hiding spot. When she was close enough, she rushed forward and fired at where the gunslinger was. Or where he was supposed to be.

There was a movement to her left, the sound of spurs echoing, and suddenly, she was knocked onto her front, rifle landing a meter in front of her. She tried to get up, only for McCree to hold down her arms and pin her with his weight. She glared at him over her shoulder with a look that would have made lesser men cry out in fear.

“I told you that I just came here to talk,” he drawled, seemingly unfazed.

“How did you know I’d be ‘ere?!”

“A friend told me. Cheeky, reckless brunette with a thing for blue skin? You know, the one you were expectin’ tonight?”

Widowmaker froze briefly, before she narrowed her eyes again and yanked her right arm free, striking McCree in the chest using her elbow. The gunslinger, caught off guard, let go of her other arm, and she used this opportunity to fully throw him off of her back. Now free, she got up, picked up her gun and spun around, her rifle trained on the man, who stood a few meters away from her, a gloved hand floating near his holstered six shooter.

“Alright, calm down now, darlin’. I’m sure we can talk this out.”

“ _Elle t'a dit? Qui d'autre est au courant?!_ ” Widowmaker demanded, feeling a plethora of emotions she shouldn’t be. Betrayal, hurt, anger, panic all swam in her mind, speeding up her heart to a rate she was not used to feeling.

“Whoa! Calm down!”

“Who else knows?!”

“No one! Lena doesn’t even know I’m here!”

“Then wha—“

“She’s sick!”

In an instant, concern overpowered her other emotions. She slightly lowered her rifle. “Explain,” she hissed at the man.

“Lena’s been sick since this morning. Don’t worry, doc said it was just a flu. Saw her tryin’ to sneak out wearin’ her gear and all, even though she was shiverin’ and shakin’,” McCree explained, keeping eye contact with the Talon agent. “I managed to stop her, drag her back, but she kept mumblin’ about havin’ to see you before I got her to go to sleep.”

“That does not explain ‘ow you found me.”

“Ah, right,” McCree chuckled. “That took some doin’. Had to ask Miss Athena for some help. But it was mostly just a smart guess. Sort of a ‘where would be a good spot for two supposed enemies to meet for a little late-night rendezvous?’ kinda thing.”

Widowmaker examined him coolly, carefully. The man didn’t look like he was lying about how he found her, at the very least. She lowered her rifle and pointed it towards the ground, but she remained alert and combat ready. McCree’s shoulders marginally relaxed and an easy smile formed on his face, but, Widowmaker noticed, his right hand never strayed far from his hip.

“Why are you ‘ere?”

“Just makin’ sure Lena’s not bein’ brainwashed by you.”

She nearly snarled at the accusation, and it must’ve shown on her face because he laughed right afterwards, making her actually snarl.

“For someone who goes around tellin’ people you can’t feel, you’re pretty easy to rile up,” he said, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Widowmaker’s lips twitched into a small scowl, making McCree laugh again. “Anyhow, it looks like you ain’t brainwashing her.”

Widowmaker felt the urge to scoff, but she remained silent. Moments passed with the two of them just staring down at each other, waiting. McCree broke the silence with a small hum, looking contemplative. Suddenly, he grinned at her lopsidedly.

“I suppose I don’t have to give you the whole ‘don’t hurt her’ speech?”

This time, Widowmaker didn’t fight her urge to scoff, making McCree chuckle good-naturedly, before a more serious look filled his face.

“But if you _ever_ do anything to hurt her,” he drawled, his hand caressing the handle of his pistol, a threatening glint in his eyes, “I won’t be the only one hunting you down.”

Widowmaker stayed silent, narrowing her eyes. She knew his threat was anything but empty. “Who said I wanted to hurt ‘er?”

McCree stared at her, then he smirked. “Tell me something then.”

The assassin raised a manicured brow.

“If Talon told you to kill Lena, what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t,” she answered, quickly and confidently.

“Even if they brainwashed you to?” McCree shot back just as quickly.

A hard look took over Widowmaker’s face. “Then I’ll just ‘ave to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

“And if it _does_ come to that? Say you couldn’t stop it from happening, what would you do then?” he asked, voice getting just the slightest bit softer, brown eyes piercing as a hawk’s as they stared at each other.

Widowmaker fell silent, considering the question, not able to give a confident answer. She stayed quiet for a while, making McCree sigh out of disappointment. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered softly. Silence filled the air once more, but there was considerably less tension this time. Widowmaker waited a few more moments, before she turned to leave. After all, Lena wasn’t here. McCree, however, stopped her.

“Before you leave,” he drawled out, the sound echoing around the walls of the empty parking lot, drawing Widowmaker’s attention back to him, “I’ve got one last question.”

Widowmaker stayed still and waited.

“You plannin’ on leavin’ Talon any time soon?”

The question took her aback, but she quickly regained her composure and threw him another glare. “Talon saved me, showed me my true potential,” Widowmaker hissed, a snarl marring her features, slightly lifting her gun as a subtle threat.

“Alright, alright. I get it,” McCree conceded, raising his hands, his eyes clearly telling her that he _didn’t_ get her. “Never take to sawin' on the branch that's supportin' you and all that.”

Widowmaker gave him a small ‘hmph’ before turning around and walking away.

“Unless, of course, you're bein' hung from it.”

She stilled at McCree’s sharp words, slowly turning her head, fixing the man with an icy glare. McCree simply returned it with a firm look, face unreadable. For a moment, they stood there like that, lights flickering on and off overhead, before Widowmaker put on a mask of indifference.

“Do not presume to know me, _imbecile_ ,” Widowmaker intoned coolly, and with that, she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Widowmaker was difficult to write. Hopefully this chapter was passable. Also, I gotta explain a few things. After the first chapter, Tracer and Widowmaker manage to somehow form a reluctant relationship, that quickly turned serious. They probably have this thing where they meet once every while, somewhere where they can forget that Talon and Overwatch exist and that they're supposed to be enemies. So that's it I guess? Oh, the French thing Widowmaker said, according to Google Translate, was "She told you? Who else knows?" If Google is wrong, I'm sorry.
> 
> Aaaaaaanyway, thanks for taking the time to read this. Constructive criticism would be appreciated as always :)


	5. “Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from bad judgment.”

“You play the guitar?”

McCree looked up from his guitar, tensing when he saw who it was. Long black hair, military posture, a slim muscled figure. It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t Ana Amari’s ghost, but her daughter leaning against the cherry blossom tree across him, before he relaxed, giving Pharah a lazy grin.

“Sure do,” he said, moving aside to make room for her on the stone bench he was sitting on as an invitation for her to sit with him. Pharah casually walked towards him and sat down, companionable silence filling the air.

She was wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans, McCree noted silently. He was also wearing civilian clothes, western get-up abandoned in favor of plaid and denim. After his team had a rather disastrous mission in China, shortly followed by a media catastrophe, Winston thought it best for them to lie low until everything settled down, and promptly shipped their team off to Japan. The only missions they had were to be reconnaissance and surveillance. That meant they had to blend in with the crowd. Unfortunately for McCree, that meant no spurs, no serape, no _hat_.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“Pardon?”

“You were grumbling under your breath just moments ago,” Pharah explained, her accented voice reaching his ears, and McCree couldn’t help but think that she sounded just like her mother.

“You ain’t botherin’ me at all, darlin’,” he assured her with an easy smile. “I guess I’m just a bit uncomfortable without my hat and spurs. And this damn guitar just won’t tune right.”

Amusement crossed her face, but she nodded sympathetically, watching as McCree continued to fiddle with the instrument, a furrow forming between his eyebrows. This continued for a few more minutes, before Pharah extended her hand, making McCree look at her questioningly.

“May I?” She asked politely, making a slight gesture towards the guitar. McCree nodded, handing it over, mild surprise and curiosity written on his face as he watched Pharah expertly tune the guitar.

“You play?”

She gave him an affirmative hum. “It was a hobby of mine, back in my childhood,” she said, strumming the strings to test the sound, before fiddling with another peg. “It was…” she trailed off hesitantly. “It was one of the skills my mother taught me before she joined Overwatch.”

Everyone who was part of the original Overwatch team knew of Ana Amari, the strong-willed sniper with eyes as sharp as her tongue. McCree smiled fondly as a memory came to him. He remembered watching her at the shooting range, chatting with Strike-Commander Morrison about her daughter, how her little Fareeha was all grown up now and about how proud she was as a mother. McCree chuckled to himself, remembering Morrison’s face, exasperated and amused at the same time, as if he’d heard her talk about the same thing more than a few times before.

But McCree also remembered how strained their relationship was. Overwatch took most of Ana’s time and attention, family put aside for the time being. That didn’t mean that Ana Amari did not love her daughter, but McCree knew firsthand of the bitterness an absent parent can cause, even if the absence was only temporary. He also knew that it if a person didn’t want to talk about it, then it wasn’t his place to pry.

So instead, McCree just watched her quietly, pink cherry blossoms drifting around them. Pharah strummed the guitar a few times, before a satisfied look took over her face. She turned to him and offered him the guitar. “I’ve finished tuning it.”

“Much obliged,” he drawled out, testing the strings himself and grinning. He started playing a few random chords, before settling on a slow, solemn melody.

“This song, I recognize it,” Pharah said, hands folded on her lap. “’Besame Mucho’, right?” McCree chuckled, the title sounding strange with her accent.

“Yup,” McCree replied, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “A real classic.”

“This is a love song, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, it’s also one of the few songs I remember how to play. But don’t you worry, darlin’,” the gunslinger shot her a grin and a wink, “I ain’t tryin’ to serenade you. And it ain't 'cause you're not a tall drink of water.”

Pharah scoffed, jokingly rolling her eyes. “I know that. I’m very sure I’m not your type.”

“Oh? You know my type?”

“Men,” she stated bluntly, lips twitching into a smirk when McCree fumbled in his playing as a loud laugh left his mouth. "Particularly ones with dragon tattoos," she teased, making him completely stop for a moment, a small blush spreading around his face. They shared a laugh, McCree shaking his head, willing the red on his cheeks to go away, before he continued playing. Pharah fell silent, content with listening to the music. As he played, McCree glanced at his companion, and then frowned. Pharah looked troubled, shoulders tense and brows knit together.

“Something botherin’ you, darlin’?” he asked casually, fingers not slowing down in their playing. Pharah blinked at him, before shaking her head.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing. You ain’t hurt or anything?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just having some… doubts I guess.”

“’Bout what?”

Pharah’s eyes wandered to her lap. “Winston sent us to Beijing to destroy one of Talon’s bases. He told me that I was to _lead_ the team.” McCree caught on quickly, and his fingers abruptly stopped playing. She was blaming herself for that botched mission in China, he realized, silently placing the guitar on his lap

“You tryin’ to tell me it was your fault the mission failed?”

“No. I know it’s illogical to think that. There were many reasons why we failed,” Pharah sighed softly. “It just feels as if Winston made a wrong decision, making me leader.”

“And why is that?”

“During the mission, I’ve made many wrong calls,” Pharah said, her voice crystal clear, even with self-doubt. “The worst mistake was ordering Lúcio to stay close to me instead of D.Va. If I had told him otherwise, she wouldn’t have had to resort to making her MEKA self-destruct. There would’ve been fewer casualties and less property damage.”

McCree considered her words carefully before replying. “You’re right. You’ve made some mistakes as our leader during the mission. _But_ ,” he continued, raising a finger before she could speak, “Winston made the right choice. D.Va and Lúcio are too young and too inexperienced. Mei’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she ain’t that effective as a leader. And I sure as hell ain’t leader material either.”

Pharah chuckled softly at his last sentence, and McCree felt triumphant hearing the sound.

“Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from bad judgment,” he added, a reassuring smile on his face as he placed a metal hand on Pharah’s shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Trust me, if I worried about all the missions I’ve failed, I’d look as grey as 76.”

Pharah laughed, genuine and melodious as petals fell around them. She relaxed, lines of worry easing off of her face, not completely, but enough to satisfy McCree for the moment. The gunslinger grinned as she gave him an appreciative smile, a subtle yet sincere way of saying ‘thank you’.

“So, now that we’ve gotten that outta the way, you have any requests?” McCree asked, his voice as lighthearted as the current atmosphere, holding up the guitar once again.

“I’d like you to play that song again, if you don’t mind,” Pharah replied, her lips curved into a calm smile.

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is a link to the song McCree plays: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORGQ9df3ZbY
> 
> Also, all sayings are not mine; they just inspired me to write. Sayings could be found here in this link: http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-oldwestwisdom.html
> 
> And last but not the least, thanks for reading. Hopefully Pharah's characterization was passable. Surprisingly enough, there's only a five year age gap between her and McCree. I'm not exactly sure how old Pharah was during the Omnic Crisis, especially since the Overwatch timeline isn't really that specific, so if anyone knows or as an approximate guess, I'd be really thankful. Anyway, constructive criticism is appreciated :)


	6. “Don't judge people by their relatives."

“A pleasant evening, gentlemen,” Zenyatta said as he hovered past the table where McCree and Torbjörn were playing a one-on-one game of poker. The gunslinger tipped his hat at him, before turning his attention back to the game. Torbjörn, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at the omnic, who simply floated his way to the other side of the room where Pharah and Mercy were seated and making small talk.

“Still don’t trust that piece of scrap,” Torbjörn groused as he revealed his hand. “Straight.”

“Flush,” McCree drawled haughtily, grinning as he took the pot. “And Zenyatta’s anything but scrap,” he added as he shuffled the cards together. “Hell, I don’t think I can count the number of times he’s saved my ass out on the field.”

“He’s still an omnic,” Torbjörn said spitefully as they started another game, slightly frowning when he saw his cards. The jack of spades and the ten of diamonds.

“He’s also part of the team,” McCree easily shot back. “Check.”

“Check. Part of the team or not, I still don’t trust him,” the short man grumbled as McCree flipped the first three of the five facedown cards on the table, revealing a jack, a ten, and an ace. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from the past thirty years, it’s that omnics can _never_ be trusted.”

“Bet a hundred,” McCree said, adding his chips to the pot. “And that’s like sayin’ all Englishmen like tea and have crooked teeth, and we both personally know one who hates tea.”

“What about the crooked teeth part?” Torbjörn asked. The gunslinger jokingly shrugged in reply, making Torbjörn bark out a loud laugh. “Call.”

McCree shot him a lazy grin as he flipped the fourth card on the table, revealing the ten of hearts. “Just kiddin’. But seriously speakin’, you oughta give Zenyatta a chance, get to know him better ‘fore writin’ him off as another dangerous, human-hatin’ omnic. Raise to two hundred.”

Torbjörn frowned thoughtfully, before calling McCree’s raise. “All omnics are the same. None of them are capable of empathy. The day I trust an omnic is the day I die.”

McCree raised a brow. “A bit over dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

McCree sighed and shook his head, before flipping over the last card. The ace of spades. “All in,” he drawled, pushing his pile of chips forward. There was a thoughtful pause, before he said “You wanna know what I think?”

“No, but knowing how you never listen to what I say, you’re going to tell me anyway,” Torbjörn replied, pushing his chips forward as well. “I’m going all in as well.”

McCree smirked smugly at that, as if he’d already won, making Torbjörn frown.

“Let’s see if you’re still smiling after this,” the Swede threw down his cards. “Full house,” he gloated, a grin taking over his face when McCree’s eyebrows shot up and his smirk faded. “Beat that.”

McCree deliberately lowered his head in a way that his hat covered his face, a gloved hand slowly moving to reveal his cards. Torbjörn's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, and he was just about to tell McCree to hurry up when the cowboy looked up, smug smirk back on his face, and revealed his hand in a flash. He had a pair of aces. There were two aces on the table as well.

A loud groan escaped his mouth as he realized his defeat as McCree laughed loudly.

“You sneaky sonuva—“

“You don't judge people by their relatives, that’s what I think,” McCree interrupted, smirk still on his lips, and Torbjörn felt the urge to punch him. “Also, I won fair and square.”

“Fair and square my ass, it’s the third time you got a pair of aces as your hand, you cheating bastard,” the shorter man accused, pointing his finger at McCree and narrowing his eyes.

“Guess lady luck’s got a thing for me.”

“Well, I guess lady luck’s got bad taste,” Torbjörn grumbled, earning another round of loud laughter from the gunslinger, drawing attention to them.

“Excuse me.”

 Torbjörn and McCree turned to Zenyatta, who was now floating beside their table.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to join you in your game of poker,” Zenyatta’s calm robotic voice said, a hand gesturing towards the table. Torbjörn was about to protest when McCree shot him a warning look, so he just grunted unhappily instead.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” McCree flashed Zenyatta a friendly grin. “You know the rules to Texas hold ‘em?”

“Yes,” Zenyatta nodded, lowering himself until it looked as if he was sitting with them even if he was still floating. “Genji has taught me how to play many card games back in the monastery, poker being one of them. But I’m still quite new to the game, I’m afraid, so please be patient with me.”

“That’s alright, partner. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it after a couple of games,” McCree said, gathering the cards and shuffling them, shooting Torbjörn a glance. “You still in?”

Torbjörn shook his head once, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously as the omnic. “I’ll just watch for now,” he said gruffly, before shooting McCree a dark look. “I don’t like playing with cheaters.”

Zenyatta stared at the cowboy questioningly. “Cheating, McCree?”

“Don’t got the faintest idea what he’s talkin’ ‘bout,” McCree replied as innocently as he could, making Torbjörn scoff.

Zenyatta hummed, before gesturing for the gunman to start the game.

\--

Five minutes later, McCree and Torbjörn were staring at Zenyatta in shock as he hummed peacefully, gathering his winnings. McCree recovered from his surprise first, chuckling. “It seems I made a mistake goin’ easy on you. Let’s start up a new game. This time I ain’t gonna hold back.”

\--

The next three games ended with McCree losing and Zenyatta's pile of chips becoming twice larger than the gunman's. Torbjörn stifled a laugh as McCree dumbly stared at the cards on the table.

“What the…”

“Perhaps I simply got lucky,” the omnic said lightly as he gathered the pot, causing Torbjörn to burst into laughter. “New game?”

McCree shot the engineer a dark look, before nodding determinedly, his competitive spirit showing.

\--

Five games later, McCree was bankrupt.

McCree was silently staring at Zenyatta, eyes comically wide and mouth opened wide. Torbjörn guffawed loudly as he repeatedly slapped his knee. Even Mercy and Pharah, who joined to spectate them three games earlier, were giggling at his expense. “Looks like lady luck moved on, Jesse!” Torbjörn mocked before erupting into another fit of laughter.

“This is— How did you—?”

“Fortune favors me, it seems,” Zenyatta replied serenely, making the spectators laugh even louder, much to McCree’s chagrin.

“Not bad for an omnic! Not bad at all!” Torbjörn bellowed, clapping the omnic’s back. Zenyatta stiffened at the sudden display of camaraderie, before relaxing, tilting his head sideways, his version of a smile.

“Thank you, my friend,” he replied, and a grin found its way on Torbjörn's face.

McCree, despite having been utterly and humiliatingly defeated, couldn’t help but smile at the scene before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to write McCree playing poker. Also wanted to write some Torbjörn, so I wrote Torbjörn playing poker with McCree. But then I was like, 'I wanna write Zenyatta as well', so I wrote some Zenyatta playing poker with McCree and Torbjörn. But then I remembered Torbjörn doesn't like omnics and, by extension, Zenyatta, so instead, I wrote McCree playing peacemaker (haha, get it?) and trying to get Torbjörn and Zenyatta to become friends while playing poker. (Also, there was supposed to be some hints of Pharmercy and Genyatta in there, but it kinda distracted from the main idea, so I removed it. Sorry.)
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments. I was honestly not expecting so much kudos on this fic. Thanks again and as always, constructive criticism appreciated :)


	7. "A full house divided don't win no pots."

A loud curse left McCree's lips as he dodged another spray of bullets, teeth grinding together in frustration. This day was just going horrible. First of all, the dilapidated building they called a base had no hot showers, no coffee, and at least five rats scampering around. He was also running low on cigars. Second, the mission was turning out to be a disaster. McCree, along with Symmetra and Lúcio, ended up getting separated from the rest of the group, leaving just the three of them to deal with a whole mob of angry gangsters. Well-armed angry gangsters. And last but definitely not the least, his companions were too busy fighting _each other_ to even give a damn about the enemies on their tail.

“Oh, you’re not even gonna say ‘thank you’, are you?” Lúcio complained as the three of them ran down a brightly lit hallway. McCree groaned, mentally hoping Symmetra would just ignore the young freedom fighter instead of aggravating him further. No such luck.

“Thank you? For what?” Symmetra said, eyebrow raised even as her heels clicked against tile as they turned a corner, narrowly avoiding the enemy’s gunfire. “In there, quickly!” She motioned towards a metal door just a few meters away, and Lúcio adjusted his sonic amplifier, giving them all a speed boost.

“I don’t know, for healing you maybe?” Lúcio said, following her into the room, which turned out to be a supply closet after closer inspection, after McCree wrenched the door open.

“You want me to thank you for doing your job?” Symmetra scoffed, narrowing her eyes at Lúcio. “Shall I thank the trees for producing oxygen while I’m at it?”

McCree reached for the door handle, cursing again when a bullet whizzed past his arm, then slammed the door shut, thanking whoever was responsible for making all the doors in this particular building metal. He turned around, stifling a frustrated groan as he saw both of them staring each other down as if they were in an old western film.

“Guys, now’s really not the time,” he drawled out, the telltale sounds of bullets hitting metal sounded from outside nearly drowning his voice. Was that a _machine gun_?

Lúcio grit his teeth and glared in response. “You know, a little bit of respect wou—”

“Respect?” Symmetra scoffed. “You are nothing but a street ruffian and a thief. I have no respect for criminals.”

 “ _I’m_ the criminal? What do you call the people you work for then, huh?”

“How ‘bout you two discuss this after we get outta here. Sound good?” McCree tried reasoning with them, only to be promptly ignored.

“The Vishkar Corporation only wants what is best for the people.”

“You tried to _destroy_ our _homes_ , man! Not cool!”

“A necessary sacrifice needed to restore order and create a better world—”

“Ha, yeah, that’s real funny!” Lúcio let out a sarcastic laugh, not bothering to hide his animosity. “Don’t you dare give me that bullcrap about buildin’ a ‘better world’,” the freedom fighter held up his hands, fingers drawing quotation marks in the air. “All Vishkar wants to do is take away the people’s freedom!”

McCree cleared his throat in another attempt to gain their attention.

“Hmph, _freedom_ ,” Symmetra distastefully wrinkled her nose and sneered. “What you call freedom, I call anarchy.”

“Guys—”

Lúcio, in an uncharacteristic show of anger, growled at the light architect. “Oh, you want anarchy? I’ll show you anarchy!”

“Please. What are you going to do, ruin my eardrums with that atrocious noise you call music?”

“Oh, it is ON! Come at me then, you—”

“Shut yer traps, both of you!”

That got their attention. The bickering pair stared at McCree in stunned silence, not used to hearing such a harsh tone from the man. Disappointment contorted his face, brows furrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line.

“This ain’t the time nor the place for you two to go at it like cats and dogs! What we need right now is to work as a _team_. That means both of you need to set aside your differences for the time bein’, whether you like it or not,” he shot both of them a hard stare. “Think you two can manage that or do I have to tell Morrison to give both of you a time-out?”

Symmetra looked appalled, mouth falling open before sneering at the gunslinger. “Do not chastise me as if I were a child!”

“You act like a brat, you get treated like one!” McCree snapped, before turning to Lúcio, who was wearing a smug smirk. “Same goes for you, kid!” Lúcio’s smirk fell. “Now, listen,” McCree growled out, “I don’t plan on actin’ as your babysitter for the rest of the mission. You want me to stop treatin’ you like children? Then stop fightin’ like children and start actin’ like the rational adults you two are supposed to be!”

McCree narrowed his eyes at the both of them, as if daring them to talk back, but Lúcio and Symmetra stayed silent, looking like a pair of berated children. The gunslinger nodded, satisfied that they weren’t fighting anymore.

“Alright. Now in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been cornered into this supply closet with only one exit. There’s at least fifteen people down that hall, waitin’ for us to get out so they can start shootin’ at us like fish in a barrel. Comms are down, too, so we can’t radio for back up. So,” McCree raised his eyebrow, “how the heck do we get out?”

A short moment of silence passed before Lúcio spoke up. “Yo, how many of them could you get at once using your gun?”

“Six,” McCree answered confidently. “But I’m gonna need a few seconds to lock onto my targets.”

Lúcio hummed thoughtfully, before asking, “You think my sonic projectiles could buy you enough time?”

“I can use my photon projector to send a few charged shots down the hallway as well,” Symmetra gestured towards her weapon, “maybe get rid of the remaining enemies.” She cast a begrudging glance at the DJ. “Your sonic amplifier should help us stay relatively unscathed.”

“Could use the speed boost for a quick getaway afterwards,” McCree added. “So we got a plan?”

Symmetra and Lúcio hesitated, the two of them a little reluctant to work together, before nodding. McCree nodded back, taking out his gun and walking towards the door. “Then let’s get this show on the road. And remember,” the gunslinger gave them a grin, “a full house divided don't win no pots.”

There was a moment of silence, Lúcio and Symmetra staring at him with bemused looks on their faces.

"What? It's true," McCree said, his grin fading into a pout, and Symmetra let out a small sigh as the DJ opened his mouth.

“Man, was that one of those stupid cowboy sayings of yours? I mean, Lena told me ‘bout the one with lassos and fishing and—”

“Shut it, kid. They ain’t stupid.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to agree with the ruffian on this one.”

“See? Even _she_ thinks they’re kinda stupid. No offense, man.”

“None taken,” McCree muttered, placing his metal hand on the door handle, wondering why he even bothered sometimes. “Stop them from squabblin’ only for them to start pickin' on me instead. Great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have a pair of people who don't like each other. Not my best chapter, I admit. I'm not really sure how much animosity Lúcio and Symmetra have for each other exactly, so if you think it's too much or too little, I apologize. All I know is that Lúcio doesn't like her because she works for Vishkar and Symmetra doesn't like him because he stole from Vishkar.
> 
> Thanks for reading anyway :D


	8. “We all got pieces of crazy in us, some bigger pieces than others."

McCree took a drag from his cigar, posture lazy and relaxed as he leaned against the back of the bench he was sitting on, legs crossed, gazing at the scenery before him. Here, in the gardens of Numbani, he felt at peace. He watched the sun slowly go down, cigar smoke in his periphery.

“McCree, mate! Just the man I was looking for!”

Well, so much for peace and quiet.

“Howdy, partner,” he greeted around his cigar as the junker ambled towards him, peg leg making his gait uneven.

Junkrat sat down next to him, a huge grin on his face. “Howdy, pardna’,” he replied, trying to imitate McCree’s drawl, before breaking into a fit of crazed giggles, which honestly still unnerved the gunslinger despite having been working with the man for a good three weeks.

“You said you were lookin’ for me?” McCree asked once Junkrat had stopped giggling.

“Oh, yeah! I was going to ask ya to do me a small favor, tiny really,” Junkrat put an arm around McCree’s shoulders, looking around conspiratorially, before leaning in to whisper, a hand cupping his mouth, “could ya distract Roadie for a couple of hours for me?”

McCree blinked, before leaning away from the junker, partly because of surprise, mostly because the man smelled like burnt toast and sulfur. “Beg your pardon?”

“Distract Roadie,” Junkrat repeated, “Ya know, big strong fella? Wears a mask all the time? A bit homicidal? Just a bit though. And you’ll only have to distract him ‘til dinnertime. C’mon mate, work with me here!”

“I don’t think I follow,” McCree said, a furrow forming between his eyebrows. “Why exactly do you want him distracted in the first place?”

“I’ll tell ya after ya do it.”

McCree hummed noncommittally, before taking another drag off of his cigar. Junkrat’s leg tapped against the floor impatiently.

“Well?”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon, mate!” Junkrat whined, throwing his head back in a completely exaggerated manner. “Weren’t you part of Overwatch? Ain’t Overwatch all about helping poor people in need? I’m a poor people in need! Help me!”

“I ain’t helpin’ you ‘til you tell me why you need my help.”

“But if I tell you,” McCree’s eyebrows rose at Junkrat’s petulant tone, “you might tell _him_!”

McCree resisted the urge to close his eyes and sigh like a tired parent. It felt like he was talking to a little kid. A twitchy, deranged kid with an unhealthy obsession for explosives, but a kid nonetheless.

“If I promise not to, would you tell me?”

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Junkrat said. “But ya betta’ keep your mouth shut, ya hear?”

“Swear it on my mother’s grave.”

“Okay, so listen,” Junkrat started, looking around again, before swinging his arm around McCree’s shoulders again. “It’s Roadie’s birthday today, and I didn’t have any time to prep the explosives without him noticing yet—”

“Whoa, hold on there! Explosives?”

“Yeah, explosives,” Junkrat nodded, a silent ‘duh’ at the end of his sentence.

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna do something stupid like an explodin’ cake.”

Junkrat laughed at that. “ _Puh-lease_ ,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Good,” McCree grunted, “because that would be a really dumb ide—”

“I _already_ did that! Last year, after we robbed that bank in Dorado,” Junkrat cut him off, sighing afterwards, a reminiscent grin on his face. “Good times, I tell ya.”

“…”

“Roight. So, anyway,” Junkrat continued, “I gotta set me explosives without him noticing. After that, I’ll have to get the banners from Winston’s room and—“

“Winston’s room?”

“Stop interrupting me, mate,” Junkrat scowled, before shrugging. “It was the first place I thought of hiding it. Besides, the big ape’s always down in the labs anyway. Now where was I? Oh, roight, the banners. After that, I gotta sneak some of Mei’s ice cream from the fridge, get that CD I had Lúcio make, _and_ set everything up in Roadie’s room all before dinner,” Junkrat said, ticking off his to-do list on his fingers.

“Roight now, the big lug’s taking a bath, but that’s only gonna take him a few minutes tops, so I’m gonna need someone to distract him while I set up. That’s where _you_ come in,” Junkrat prodded McCree’s chest.

“Let me get this straight,” McCree said, shrugging off Junkrat’s arm. “You want me to distract your psychopathic bodyguard for a couple of hours just so you could give him a surprise party—”

“Surprise birthday party.”

“— a surprise birthday party?”

“Yep! So, you in?”

“… I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” McCree sighed, throwing his cigar stub to the ground and crushing it with his boot. He stood up as Junkrat gave a triumphant whoop next to him.

“Alright, so how do I distract him?”

“I’ve got an idea but it’s—”

“Crazy? Stupid?”

“A little bit of both. Ya still up for it?”

“We all got pieces of crazy in us, some bigger pieces than others. Turns out, mine happens to be slightly bigger than normal.”

Junkrat cackled. “Well, alroight then, mate! Follow me. I’ve got something for you,” he said, before scurrying towards a bush and squatting, searching for something within it. McCree followed him, curious. There was a victorious ‘aha!’ and then Junkrat stood up, hiding whatever it was he found behind his back. “Hands out!”

The gunslinger raised his brow, but put out his hand anyway, and Junkrat dropped a mask into it. A really familiar black gas mask.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kiddin’ me.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Ooh, here comes Roadie. _Hi_ , Roadie~! Glad to see ya found me present!”

“ _JAMISON!_ ”

True enough, Roadhog came lumbering around the corner, a murderous aura around him, hook in his hands, and was that a paper bag mask on his face? Was that the present Junkrat was referring to? A menacing growl interrupted McCree’s thoughts, followed by the sound of metal being swung.

Junkrat let loose another giggle, before turning to McCree, “I think ya better start running, mate.”

“Aw, heck.”

Seconds before the hook could reach him, McCree jumped to the side, and hit the ground running, Roadhog's mask in hand.

 _Well_ , McCree thought as he ran, dodging another swing of Roadhog's hook, _so much for peace and quiet_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter didn't really contain any 'McCree giving advice' as much as 'McCree agreeing to do stupid shit for Junkrat', but what can you do? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also, Junkrat's speech pattern is a bit difficult to pin down. Any advice on that would be nice. Anyway, to all the sweet people who left comments and kudos, thank you so much! I really appreciate it :)


	9. “It don't take a very big person to carry a grudge."

“Nine letter word for boundary that ends in 'er'.”

“Hmm... perimeter.”

There was a scritching sound of pen against paper as McCree filled in the blanks of the crossword puzzle in front of him, hat missing. His eyes darted away from the puzzle for a moment and towards Hanzo, who was directly across him. The man was sipping his tea, posture relaxed yet regal at the same time, as if he were drinking at a traditional tea ceremony instead of the base's small kitchen slash dining area. It made McCree smile fondly.

“What is it, McCree?” Hanzo asked, catching his expression.

“Nothing. Three letter word for fruit drink?”

“Ade.”

The door suddenly swung open, making both men glance up briefly. Hana entered the room and immediately headed towards the refrigerator looking pissed, snatching a can of soda from the fridge before heading towards the cupboards. While she was rummaging for food, Hanzo shot the gunslinger a look and subtly gestured toward the girl. ‘ _Talk to her_.’

McCree’s eyebrows went up, tapping his pen against his chest once. ‘ _Me?_ ’

Hanzo nodded and took another sip from his tea. McCree scowled, bringing up his hand to motion it towards the other man. ‘ _Why don’t you do it?_ ’

The archer simply answered him with a raised brow as if to say ‘ _do you_ really _want_ me _to do it?_ ’

That was when McCree remembered how emotionally inarticulate Hanzo could be. The man was an amazing fighter, able to wipe out an impressive number of enemies using only his bow, but when it came to certain things like dealing with emotions, whether his own or others', Hanzo was hopeless. McCree sighed, leaning back and running his cybernetic hand through his hair. His eyes traveled towards the counter where Hana was angrily muttering something in Korean as she ripped open a bag of potato chips.

“So, kid,” he said, gaining the girl’s attention and gesturing her over. “Ugly fight you had with Morrison today.”

“Ugh! Screw Morrison, the huge jerk,” Hana said as she flopped down on the seat next to McCree, placing her chips and her soda on the table. “Can you believe him? I mean, who the hell does he think he is, my _dad_?! I mean, yeah, I joke a lot about him acting like one, but still!” she griped, arms crossing over her chest.

“He’s only tryin’ to keep you safe. Tryin’ to do what he thinks is best for you,” McCree said. "Ain't nothing wrong with that."

Hana huffed. “Just because I’m nineteen and haven’t been fighting for as long as you guys have, doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself,” she said testily. “I don’t need to be babysat. I know how to fight.”

“Didn’t say you didn’t, darlin’,” McCree chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “But yeah, I guess he gets a bit too overprotective, like a mother hen protecting its chicks.” He smirked at the mental image the statement provided while Hana snorted, and the gunslinger swore he saw Hanzo smile, too.

Thinking about what to say next, he temporarily abandoned his crossword puzzle. He hummed as he thought. An idea struck him, and he turned so that most of his body was facing Hana. “How ‘bout you look at it this way. You like Lúcio, right?”

“Um, excuse me?” she asked, wearing an expression of slight disbelief, and Hanzo discretely hid his smirk behind one hand, looking way too amused. “What gave you that idea?”

McCree blinked, before realizing that she misunderstood. He waved his hands in front of him, and tried to explain. “No, I didn’t mean _like_ like, I meant— shut it, Hanzo— I meant as a friend. You like him as a friend, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hana said with a shrug. “He’s pretty cool to hang out with. Not to mention his awesome albums.”

“You think he can defend himself?”

“Please! I _know_ Lúcio can defend himself,” she answered, pride for her friend showing in her voice. She grabbed a few chips and popped them into her mouth, talking while she ate. “He’s super agile and he’s a pretty good fighter. It also helps that he has the ability to heal just by playing _music_. Now _that’s_ awesome.”

“Yeah, but does that stop you from worrying ‘bout him?”

“Huh,” Hana’s chewing slowed down, and she looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, tipping back her chair. “I guess not. I mean, not just him, but also the thought of any of you guys getting seriously injured kinda scares me a bit,” she admitted, reaching for her can of soda and taking a sip, before sighing. “Okay, fine. I get your point. That’s exactly the reason why dad blew up and started lecturing me and all that. And yeah, I shouldn't have started yelling back and calling him names,” she said, crossing her arms.

"That all?"

She looked up, and her lips twitched into a defiant scowl when she saw both Hanzo and McCree’s expectant looks. “I’m still not apologizing until he does,” she mumbled, grabbing another handful of chips. “He was the one overreacting in the first place.”

McCree shook his head. “It don't take a very big person to carry a grudge, darlin’,” McCree pointed out. “And to be fair, you were actin’ pretty reckless. Speaking of which,” he looked down at the puzzle, tapping his pencil against the table again, “what’s a nine letter word for ‘reckless’?”

“I don’t know, careless?” Hana shrugged, before huffing. “And I thought we all agreed that blowing up my MEKA is an acceptable tactic under the right circumstances!”

“You’re short one letter, darlin’,” McCree drawled out. “Also, you barely got to cover afterwards. If Lúcio hadn’t arrived with his speed boost, you’d probably be pretty messed up right now, if not dead. That’s why it was reckless of you to do that and that’s why you should go apologize.”

Hana chewed on her lower lip, before sighing and giving McCree a small glare. “I thought you were supposed to be the cool uncle,” she huffed.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” McCree asked with a slight pout.

Hana didn’t bother answering him, instead taking hold of her potato chips in one hand and the soda can in the other. She stood up, her chair squeaking against the floor. “Athena, where’s dad?” she asked, glancing at the ceiling.

“If you are referring to Reinhardt, he is currently in the infirmary and discussing something with Mercy. If you are referring to Soldier: 76, he is currently resting in his quarters,” a disembodied female voice replied.

“Wait, like sleeping? But it’s the middle of the day! Geez, he’s such an old man,” Hana muttered, making both Hanzo and McCree chuckle. “Thanks, Athena,” she said as she left the room, probably to go make amends.

McCree watched her go, a fond expression crossing his features. He was about to go back to solving his puzzle when he caught a glimpse of Hanzo’s face, dark eyes boring into McCree. McCree spun around to give him a questioning look, and the archer immediately closed his eyes and casually sipped his tea, acting as if he wasn’t staring at McCree just a few moments ago.

“What?” he asked, and Hanzo simply shook his head in reply.

“Imprudent,” Hanzo said, and McCree blinked at him. “A nine letter word for reckless,” he clarified.

“Oh,” he looked at his crossword puzzle, then threw Hanzo a warm smile. “Thanks, pardner.”

“It’s nothing,” the archer muttered, looking away. It might’ve been a trick of the light, but McCree swore he saw a tinge of pink on Hanzo’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was this one McHanzo comic on tumblr ~~which I, for the life of me, cannot seem to find, but it was basically McCree solving a crossword puzzle and Hanzo just giving him the answers and there was a pick up line there somewhere. If anyone finds it, please share it in the comments so everyone can witness the cuteness of that thing.~~ HERE IT IS: http://thehauntedumbrella.tumblr.com/post/146232147595/crossword-puzzles-are-gay. A big thank you to Wolfen for sharing the link :)
> 
> So, some McHanzo because I cannot resist, some D.Va because I remember someone asking for her, and some Dad!76 because I need more of this in my life.
> 
> So yeah, that's about it. Constructive criticism will always be appreciated. Also, big thank you to everyone who left a comment and a kudos. Hope you guys like this chapter :)


	10. "Meanness don't happen overnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating has been upped because of language and violence(?). I have no idea how to rate stuff.
> 
> Also, thank you to all of your lovely comments! Seeing someone comment on my fics just makes me so happy, hahaha. Anyway, on to the story.
> 
> Also, **this chapter contains choking.** Just a warning to anyone who might be uncomfortable with that.

_This is bad_ , McCree thought as he gasped for breath as he struggled. It was supposed to be a simple mission. Escort the payload, get back in time for dinner. But now here he was, suffocating in a cold dark alley, a hand around his neck, pinned down by none other than _Reaper_. McCree’s eyes darted around frantically, and he felt slight panic when he spotted his gun, his Peacekeeper lying on the cobblestone meters away from his reach. A sinister chuckle came from the man (can he be even called a man?) above him as McCree’s left hand twitched towards his flashbangs.

“Don’t even bother trying, brat. I know all your little tricks.”

Tendrils of black mist emerged from Reaper’s cloak, going down around the gunslinger’s waist, and McCree shivered at how _cold_ it felt, clenching his eyes shut. The tendrils drew back, carrying away McCree’s flashbangs with it and tossing them to the side.

“After all, I taught you everything you know.”

McCree’s eyes snapped open, the familiar words soaking into his ears like rain into soil. Fragments of memories ran through his mind, a harsh voice calling him brat, a beanie left lying around the Blackwatch base, a superior smirk, a scarred face, a man standing behind Jack Morrison as the blond gave a speech, hatred burning in his eyes—

“ _Reyes,_ ” McCree gasped out, eyes wide as the realization struck him like a speeding bullet. “But you’re— How are you—”

“—alive?” the man above him continued, chuckling humorlessly, bitterly. “You’ll have to ask the _good doctor_. After all, she was the one who turned me into this.”

“Angela?” McCree mumbled. “She’d never—” The grip around his neck suddenly tightened, making him gasp for breath, cutting him off.

“But she _did_ ,” he growled. “And now she is going to pay for it.” Then, the masked face tilted to the side, as if in deliberation. “That is after I finish you off, of course.”

“Fuck you, Reyes.”

A dark laugh resonated throughout the dark alley, bouncing off the stone walls. “Still as vulgar as ever, I see.”

“Vulgar, but at least I ain’t no traitor.” Shock gave way to anger and the bitter feeling of being betrayed. McCree’s hands clawed at Reaper’s, no, not Reaper, _Reyes’s_ arm, feeling the hand around his throat tighten just the slightest bit at his words, the clawed tips of his gauntlets pressing into the gunslinger’s skin. He was running out of time and breath. His eyes darted to the side, spotting a flashbang that had slowly rolled towards him, just within reach. An opening. He needed an opening. “Jack, he… trusted you with his damn life,” he wheezed out, and Reaper’s hold loosened slightly, allowing him to talk. “Heck, _I_ trusted you. Angela, Ana, Winston—we all did. Then you just had to go and use that against us. For, what, a power trip? Jealousy? Revenge?! Tell me, Reye—”

McCree choked as Reaper increased the pressure around his neck once again. But McCree stared directly at the pale white mask, face grim and gaze unyielding. “What… happened to you?” he rasped out, voice weak.

"I told you, brat,” Reaper, _Reyes_ growled out. “ _Mercy_ did this—”

McCree cut him off with a strangled laugh. “Wasn't... referring to that, to your... body. Meanness don’t happen overnight, Reyes,” he panted out. “Angela didn’t do _this_ to you. No, you... you did this to _yourself_."

Reyes's grip loosened for a few precious seconds, and that was all the opening McCree needed. Quicker than a snake, he shot his left hand to the side and grabbed the flashbang, shoving it directly at the white mask above him and squeezing his eyes shut as it went off. The hold around his neck loosened, and McCree shoved Reyes away. He took a series of deep breaths, willing air to reenter his lungs as his body moved into a crouch.

“ _Die_.”

McCree heard more than saw Reyes taking out his shotguns, and acted quickly. He rolled towards his Peacekeeper, and shot twice, the shotguns falling to the ground as Reyes’s upper arms dissipated into black mist. McCree smirked. He wasn’t called the quickest draw for nothing. But his satisfaction didn’t last long as the limbs regenerated almost immediately afterwards.

Suddenly, Reyes jumped back as something whizzed past him and hit the ground he had been standing on prior, causing a small explosion. A rocket.  Both of them glanced up, and saw Pharah, her blue suit visible against the cloudy dark skies as she flew towards them. There was a snarl from Reyes, and McCree felt eyes boring into him from underneath the white mask.

“You won’t get off easy next time, brat,” he said, voice low and rough, before dissipating into black mist, teleporting away just as Tracer bounded around the corner, guns at the ready. Pharah followed shortly, landing just a few meters away.

Tracer’s eyes widened in concern when she saw him. “Jesse! You alright, luv? Are you hurt anywhere?” she asked, checking him for injuries, and gasping when she saw the bruise forming around his neck. “Oh! We’re so sorry, luv! We didn’t know Reaper was going to be—”

“S’alright, darlin’,” McCree said, smiling reassuringly at both Tracer and Pharah. “I’m fine.”

He cast a glance at a spot on the ground, where Reaper (Reyes?) had him pinned down. A grimace formed on his face as his human hand massaged his neck, feeling the bruise and small cuts left by the sharp talons of his former mentor’s gauntlet. He looked up and saw the concerned looks on his friends’ faces. He sighed, bending down to gather his scattered flashbangs.

“The payload?”

“Has been escorted to safety. Winston has been notified and pick-up will arrive in three minutes,” Pharah replied, before continuing in a gentler tone. “Are you sure you do not need medical attention? You look pale.”

McCree stood up and simply shook his head, reaching down his pockets to retrieve a cigar. He desperately needed one right now.

“I'm fine. Just think," he said, his eyes flickering towards the mouth of the alleyway. "Just think I saw a ghost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but I headcanon that McCree would feel so betrayed after finding out Reaper is Reyes. I mean, the man trained him and they probably became hella close during the old Blackwatch days. I also headcanon that the reason he left was because he didn't want to have to choose between Morrison and Reyes. McCree may have been friends with Reyes, but he was also loyal to Morrison. So, he kinda took the coward's way out and left. At least, that's how I see it happening.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you liked this chapter :)


	11. "If you climb into the saddle, you better be prepared for a ride."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: Some kinda graphic parts in this chapter. People dying a violent death vaguely mentioned because the heroes don't always win.**
> 
> I think that's about it. So, yeah, have some feels!

Red. Black. Orange

That was all Zarya could see whenever she tried to go to sleep. Her dreams would be filled with the three colors— charred bodies on the ground, both omnic and human, smeared with oil and blood, coloring the floor a dark red inside the burning warehouse, the fire casting its orange glow everywhere.

Zarya couldn’t sleep without that scene replaying in her head over and over again. So she didn’t.

Instead, she worked out.

She knew it was a very short term solution and that she should probably talk to someone about the dreams, but this has always been her way of dealing with problems. Here, within the blue and white walls of the Watchpoint’s gym, she felt safe. The ache in her muscles distracted her from her thoughts, her dreams, from her nightmares.

She closed her eyes, her breath coming in harsh pants.

_“Zarya, McCree,” came Morrsion’s gruff voice from the earpiece. “The two of you should be nearing the warehouse where the bomb’s being kept. Lúcio and I will meet you there after we deal with the Talon agents here.”_

_“Acknowledged,” she replied as she and McCree ran through the snow, the building coming into sight._

She pushed her body into doing another set of push ups.

_“Shit, we’ve got hostages,” McCree said as soon as they broke into the warehouse. “Gotta be at least thirty people here. Some omnics. All unconscious.”_

_Zarya approached the nearest one, a young girl, probably around fifteen. She gently shook the girl. When she didn’t respond, Zarya lifted the girl’s eyelids, taking in the glassy look in the girl’s baby blue eyes. “They were drugged,” Zarya said._

_“Yeah,” McCree looked over one of the omnic hostages. “The omnics too, probably.”_

_“Look for the bomb. We’re almost there,” Soldier 76 said._

Zarya huffed, feeling her arms start to ache, before doing another set.

_“Yo, we gotta clear the building!” Lúcio started to skate over to the unconscious girl, before Soldier 76 stopped him_

_“There’s no time,” Morrison barked out, activating his visor to help search for the bomb hidden in the warehouse. “The fastest way to save them is to get the bomb out of here and defuse it!”_

_“I’ve found it!” Zarya yelled out to her companions and they immediately rushed over to where she stood in front of a crate. Inside was a huge cylindrical contraption with a timer right in the middle, the green numbers counting down. Three minutes. “This is it, da? Just like the one in photo Winston sent on data pad.”_

_“Looks like it,” McCree nodded as Morrison scanned it with his visor before nodding in confirmation._

_“Alright, let’s get it outta here then!” Lúcio said, activating a speed boost._

Zarya grunted, pushing herself off the ground. It wasn’t working. She sat down on the metal bench pressed against the wall, panting slightly while she wiped sweat off of her face with the white towel around her neck. She laid her head against the wall, closing her eyes.

She remembered Winston suddenly coming through the comm links, urgent and shouting something about them being tricked. She remembered carrying the crate outside, setting it down in the snow. Then, she remembered a soft click coming from inside the crate. And after that…

_“Winston, calm down!” Morrison said, hand pressing against the earpiece. “Just tell us—”_

_“It’s not the bomb, Jack, but the trigger! Put it back befor—”_

_There was a loud explosion just behind them, just meters away. When Zarya turned around, she saw what hell might have looked like through the wide open steel doors of the warehouse. First there was orange. Almost everything within the warehouse was up in flames, the fire twisting and turning and spreading even after the explosion. Then there was red, bloody bits and pieces. It looked as if someone had splattered red paint all over the walls, the floor. Then there was black. Burnt flesh and charred metal filled the air with a ghastly odor and Zarya saw the body of the little girl with baby blue eyes and nearly retched—_

Zarya’s eyes opened abruptly, and she sat up with a groan. She slouched, elbows resting on her knees, fists clenched. There was a telltale sound of spurs jingling, of someone entering the gym. Zarya looked up, grimacing when she saw the red of McCree’s serape and the glowing orange tip of his cigar.

“Mind if I join ya, darlin’?”

“Do not call me that,” Zarya said as she grabbed a water bottle, but made no protest when McCree sat next to her, watching her from the corner of his eye as she drank.

“You doin’ alright then? Probably not,” McCree drawled around his cigar, then he chuckled. “Hell, I don’t think any of us is doin’ alright after that mess. Especially Lúcio, the poor kid.”

Zarya glanced at the man beside her, not saying anything.

_“Oh god, oh god, oh god, ohgodohgod—” Lúcio was staring at the burning warehouse, shaking. “We need to— we need to help them! We need to—”_

_“Lúcio! Zarya!” someone yelled out, maybe Morrison. “Move it! Talon’s coming! We’ve been had.”_

_“But the people—”_

_“They’re dead, kid!” Morrison yelled, grabbing Lúcio’s arm before he could skate back into the warehouse. “There’s nothing we could do for them now!”_

“Kid’s traumatized, barely got any shuteye ever since,” he continued, seemingly not minding Zarya’s silence. He took a drag from his cigar. “I can tell you haven’t either. You’ve been goin’ down here every night and Angela’s getting’ worried. Something ‘bout overworking yourself.”

“I am,” Zarya paused, looking for the right word, “coping.”

“Well, I guess that’s one way to call it,” McCree mused as he puffed out a cloud of smoke.

“I am no stranger to death and destruction,” Zarya said, sounding much less distressed than she felt. “But what happened during that mission…” she trailed off.

What she said was true. As a child, she grew up in a small Siberian village ravaged by the First Omnic Crisis. Then the Second Omnic Crisis began and she joined the Russian Defense Forces. She has fought in wars, seen close comrades die, and has killed some men herself, but she’s never seen _anything_ like what Talon did to those innocent people. Not even Omnics were so cruel.

“If you climb into the saddle, you better be prepared for a ride.”

The sudden statement pulled Zarya away from her thoughts, and she faced McCree.

“That’s the first thing I’ve learned when I joined the Deadlock Gang,” he said, mouth turning into a grim line, eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. Zarya has never seen him look so serious outside of missions.

“See, to be fully accepted into the gang, there was something you needed to do,” McCree paused to blow out a plume of smoke. “You needed to prove your loyalty. They told me, ‘You wanna get in, kid? Show us how much you want it.’” Zarya saw his flesh hand clench, saw him close his eyes. “Then they shoved a kid in front of me and told me to kill him.”

Zarya’s breath hitched, her eyes widened. “What…”

“What did I do?” McCree chuckled humorlessly. “He was a scrawny lil thing. Can’t have been a day over twelve. They said he stole from the boss, then they handed me a gun, and the kid was cryin', beggin’ me not to kill him, sayin’ he didn’t do anything wrong.” McCree fell silent, and slumped down, his hands clasped together. Zarya noticed they were shaking just the tiniest bit. “I asked them if this was really necessary, they told me to stop bein’ a wimp and to just shoot the kid.”

“Did you?” Zarya asked.

McCree faced her, the wry smile on his face making him look like a very different man. “I got into the gang, didn’t I?”

Zarya fell silent, still looking at him. McCree met her gaze with a hard stare, which softened after a few moments. He took his cigar and crushed it against the seat, leaving a black mark on the bench.

“Bein’ a part of Overwatch ain’t always pretty,” he said, getting up. “And just because we’re the good guys, doesn’t mean we’ll always win. Life just doesn’t work that way, sadly. The only thing you could do now is buckle up and hope the next ride’s a bit smoother.”

Zarya’s eyes followed his back as he walked towards the exit, spurs jingling. Just as he reached the door, he turned around and tipped his hat at Zarya. “Now you best rest up, ma’am, 'fore you pull something.”

Zarya scoffed, a small smirk returning to her face. “I am world’s strongest woman. I will not make such a rookie mistake and pull something. But,” she gave McCree a genuine smile. “Thank you for your concern. And for everything else.”

McCree grinned back, tipping his hat again, before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for making Lúcio and Zarya suffer mental trauma. Please forgive me. On a side note, they only have a two year age gap? Like, whoa.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this chapter :D


	12. "A cowboy hat looks silly on anyone who ain't a cowboy."

There was a knock on the door, and McCree yelled out a ‘hold on a minute’, crawling out from under his bed. When he opened the door, he was greeted with an irate Hanzo whose long locks, McCree noticed with interest, were down, his golden ribbon nowhere in sight.

“Need something, darlin’?”

“Did you take my scarf?” Hanzo asked, a small frown on his face.

“Scarf?” McCree’s head tilted to the side and his brow furrowed, trying to recall a moment when Hanzo wore a scarf before something clicked. “Wait, you talkin’ ‘bout your ribbon?”

Hanzo’s frown deepened into a scowl, as if McCree just personally insulted his ancestors. “It is not a ribbon.”

“Sure, whatever you say, partner,” the gunslinger drawled, flashing his teeth. “But, uh… no, I don’t recall takin’ your ribbon. Wait, why are you askin’ me in the first place?”

“Because you’ve done it before. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that you would do it again,” Hanzo answered dryly.

McCree pouted in mock hurt. “Don’t tell me you’re still angry ‘bout that?” Hanzo raised an eyebrow in response, and McCree groaned and threw the archer a puppy look. “Aw c’mon, darlin’. Didn’t I already apologize for that?”

Hanzo gave him a blank stare, before turning away from McCree, his black hair swishing at the movement. “It seems that you did not take it after all. I shall take my leave now.”

“Wait, I gotta ask ya something.”

“Hm?”

“Have you seen Bessie?”

“Bessie?”

“My hat.”

“…”

“What?”

“… your hat is named Bessie.”

“Yeah, Bessie. I’ve turned my whole room upside down yet I still can’t find the darn thing.”

A furrow formed between Hanzo’s eyebrows, confusion and disbelief showing on his normally unreadable face. “Why would you— never mind. No, I haven’t seen your…” his lip curled in slight amusement, “‘Bessie’. Maybe you left it somewhere in the base after last night’s celebrations.”

“Well, damn.” McCree scratched the back of his head, thinking that maybe he did lose it during the victory party last night. “Looks like I’ll have to look all over the base then.” He threw Hanzo a grin. “Wanna come with? Might find your ribbon along the way.”

A soft ‘hmph’ came from the smaller man. “Fine. Only because it would be more efficient that way,” he said, as McCree closed the door to his quarters. “And it is a _scarf_ ,” Hanzo added as they walked down the hall.

“Is not. Scarves ‘round yer neck, ribbons 'round yer hair. It’s a ribbon, sweetheart.”

“Fine, then.” Hanzo sniffed, one hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair away from his face, and McCree couldn’t help but follow the movement. “At least I don’t wear a belt that says,” dark eyes glanced down briefly and lips twitched into a smirk, “‘Bad Ass Mother Fucker’, was it?”

McCree grimaced. “I’m gonna kill Hana for tellin’ ya what it means.”

“I would’ve found out even if she didn’t,” Hanzo replied, walking ahead of him. “And move faster if you want to find ‘Bessie’ before lunch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” McCree drawled nonchalantly, his eyes taking in the way the archer’s salt and pepper hair spilled down Hanzo’s broad shoulders, before catching up with him.

 --

As it turns out, they weren’t the only ones missing parts of their outfits. When McCree and Hanzo went to check the kitchen, they were greeted by the sight of Morrison without his signature jacket, a tight black shirt hugging his torso.

“Where’s your jacket?” McCree asked, not used to seeing him without it.

Morrison shrugged in response, reading something on his data pad. “Somewhere. Where’s your hat?”

“Somewhere,” McCree said, silently wondering how Morrison knew his hat was missing without looking up.

It didn’t end there. Zarya was going around the base, asking who took her spare boots, Reinhardt was missing one of his shirts, and Lena also lost her goggles. It was puzzling. By lunchtime, Winston made an announcement asking whoever it was stealing other people’s clothes to please stop and return whatever they took, and for Mr. Rutledge to please stop Junkrat from blowing up the courtyard _again_.

Soon, Hanzo and McCree decided to split up, seeing how big this particular base was. Hanzo decided to take the upper floor, while McCree searched the basement.

McCree whistled a tune as he meandered down the hall, trying to figure out who could steal so many pieces of clothing from a bunch of skilled agents. Granted, most of them were piss drunk the night before and some of the missing clothes were probably just lying around the base but still.

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of beeping. He backed up a few steps, pausing in front of the door of an unused storage room. He listened closely, and sure enough, the sound was coming from inside the room. He opened the door slowly.

“Bastion? That you? What are ya doin’ down here, lil’ fella?”

There was a startled beep, followed by a whirring sound.

McCree turned on the lights and blinked incredulously at the sight before him. Standing in front of a full length mirror was Bastion, wearing various missing articles of clothing. Morrison’s jacket was tied around Bastion’s neck by the sleeves, much like a cape, Hanzo’s golden ribbon was wrapped around the barrel of his submachine gun arm, the other holding Lena’s goggles by the strap, and McCree’s own hat sat atop the robot’s head. A pair of boots and a shirt, most probably Zarya’s and Reinhardt’s respectively, were placed on the floor near the mirror.

“What are you—”

Bastion let out a series of alarmed servo noises, as if trying to explain itself.

“Calm down,” McCree said as he approached. “I ain’t mad or anything. Just wanted to know what you’re doin’ with all those clothes.”

There was another series of beeps, before McCree sighed.

“Look, whatever you were doin’, you should know that it ain’t right to take someone else’s clothes without permission,” he chided gently and Bastion’s head tilted down, looking embarrassed, as he chirred softly. “Now, what’s gotten into you?”

Bastion chirred for a moment, before a recording sounded out.

_“Oi, Roadie. I think the piece of scrap’s tryin’ to say somethin’.”_ McCree immediately recognized the voice as Junkrat’s, his accent unmistakable.

_“He is inquiring about why you do not seem to trust him,”_ a calm robotic timbre translated helpfully. Zenyatta.

_“Oh, I trust him, alroight. As far as I can throw him anyway,”_ Junkrat hissed, and McCree could imagine the sneer on the junker’s face.

_“Bastion is now asking how he could gain your trust.”_

_“Gain me trust, you say? Ha! Nevah!”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because he’s a filthy omnic, that’s why!”_

_“But I am an omnic as well,”_ Zenyatta asked, tone slightly confused. _“Yet you appear to trust me more than you trust Bastion.”_

_“That’s because you look more, I don’t know, human-y. And for the record, I_ still _don’t trust you either. But_ him? _Look at him! I mean, he’s got a gun for an arm, for Pete’s sake!”_

There was a pause. _“Are you saying you would only be more inclined to trust him if he looked more human?”_ Zenyatta asked and McCree could hear the faint disappointment in the omnic’s voice even though it was just a recording.

Junkrat scoffed. _“Not saying I’ll start doin’ trust falls with him if he did, but yeah, that'd be a step up from what he looks like now.”_

There was a bleep, signaling that the recording had come to an end, and Bastion’s frame seemed to slump forward. McCree frowned at what he just heard, before sighing and shaking his head. “I’m gonna have to talk to that boy,” he muttered under his breath, before looking straight at Bastion.

“Bastion, darlin’, look at me.” The robot slowly raised its head, its glowing blue optic staring at McCree’s eyes. “Don’t listen to him, alright? Boy doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ ‘bout. You’re fine just the way you are,” he said, smiling softly. “And if others don’t like you because of what you look like, then that’s their loss. Don’t force yourself to be something else just because others tell you to. After all, a cowboy hat looks silly on anyone who isn't a cowboy. You got that?”

The Bastion unit beeped affirmatively, now in a visibly better mood than before. McCree chuckled.

“Speakin’ of hats,” McCree drawled, holding out his hand. “I’d mighty appreciate it if you returned mine. And everyone else’s things, if you don’t mind.”

\--

“Hey, there,” McCree grinned lopsidedly when he ran into Hanzo, who was going down the stairs. Hanzo raised his brow at him, casting a swift glance at McCree’s hat.

“I see you’ve found Bessie.”

“Eeyup,” the gunslinger replied, before holding up his other hand to reveal Hanzo’s ribbon. “Along with everything else that went missin’. Found out who the little thief was as well.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Hanzo said as he took his ribbon from McCree’s hand.

“Bastion.”

“Bastion?” Hanzo looked at him inquiringly, his hands pausing briefly from their task of tying his hair into a high ponytail.

“Yeah. It’s a long story, but he promised not to do it again,” McCree said, leaning against the wall. Hanzo hummed in reply, and McCree’s eyes followed the archer’s hands, moving swiftly in practiced movement.

“Anyway, so?”

“Hm?”

“What, I’m not gonna get a ‘thank you’ for gettin’ your ribbon back?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “It is only right that you return my _scarf_ after taking it last time,” he said, making McCree pout. Hanzo laughed softly, hands dropping to his sides, mouth curved into a small smile.

“You should smile more,” McCree blurted out of the blue.

Hanzo blinked, taken aback, pink lightly dusting his cheeks. “What?”

“Makes you look less of an ass,” McCree said, grinning cheekily, leaning his head against the wall as well. “You know, reminds people you don’t actually have a stick up your—hey!”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes and pulled McCree’s hat down his eyes, huffing as he walked away, leaving McCree laughing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://crashboombanger.tumblr.com/post/145670991047
> 
> That link up there? That's where Bessie comes from. Listen to it and be amazed.
> 
> So, yeah, have some fluff because the last chapter was kinda dark. Also, I need help on how to write Bastion speech. I can only use the word 'beep' so many times. Anyway, a HUGE thank you to all of the lovely people who left comments and kudos(es?) because wow, I was not expecting this much. And also, thank you for reading this new chapter. Hope you enjoyed it :)


	13. "You can't tell how good a man or a watermelon is 'til they get thumped."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit short. On top of that, it's been a while since I've updated this thing, but I've been in more of a drawing mood lately, not a writing one. I'm not really sure about this chapter, but I hope you guys still like it. Anyway, have some Mei.

_KA-BOOM!_

“Ahahahahaha! That was great! Let’s do that again, Roadie!”

Mei huffed as another explosion sounded off from the courtyard, followed by another maniacal laugh. She looked out the window and cast the two junkers a glare despite the fact that they probably couldn’t see her as they were busy setting up another bomb made out of… Mei squinted. Were those Morrison’s biotic emitters?

“See somethin’ interestin’ out there, darlin’?”

She jumped, letting out a small startled noise. Her head turned to face McCree, who tipped his hat with a grin. “Pardon. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh,” Mei gave him a small smile, hand coming up to adjust her glasses. “It’s fine. I was just—” Another boom, this one louder than before, cut her off and made her wince. She glanced out the window into the courtyard where Junkrat was lying on the ground, soot-covered chest heaving as he laughed freely while Roadhog grunted beside him.

“Well, they sure look like they’re havin’ fun,” McCree commented casually, looking out the window as well, and Mei’s lips thinned into an annoyed line. He glanced at her, before chuckling. “But I reckon you’ve got a different opinion.”

“Why’d Winston let them join Overwatch in the first place?” she blurted out, crossing her arms in irritation. “They’re criminals!”

McCree’s eyebrow rose. “Darlin’, in case you forgot, I ain’t exactly a saint either. Same goes for Hanzo, Genji,” he ticked off his fingers, “Morrison when he was a vigilante, Lúcio’s done his fair share of law breakin’ even before Overwatch, Vishkar’s pretty shady so I guess Symmetra counts as well. Hm,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, with the Petras Act, everyone’ in the base counts as a criminal. Technically speakin’, of course.”

“No, I mean,” Mei pursed her lips, before gesturing outside. “Look at them! It’s just— They’re so…” she waved her hands in the air, trying to find the right term.

“Wild?” McCree offered.

“Crazy! Homicidal!” She exclaimed. “They’re the world’s most wanted criminals! They’re wanted for armed robbery, terrorism, _kidnapping_! That’s not even half of it! Is it _really_ wise to let them join?” She asked, doubt and skepticism clear in her tone.

McCree shrugged. “Well, you can't tell how good a man or a watermelon is 'til they get thumped.”

Mei’s forehead scrunched into confusion. “A watermelon?”

“It means you—,” McCree sighed. “Ah, screw it. Look, Roadhog’s not that bad once ya get to know him. Yeah, a bit homicidal, but he won’t do you no harm as long as you don’t piss him off. And Junkrat’s a good kid, believe it or not.” Doubt flickered over Mei’s face and McCree laughed. “I know it’s a bit hard to believe, but trust me, kid’s got a heart of gold.”

Mei gave him a deadpanned look. “He stole my ice cream.”

“Yeah, but he was doin’ it for Roadhog.”

“He bullies Zenyatta and Bastion because they’re omnics! They haven’t even done anything!”

McCree grinned sheepishly at that. “Well, he’s got a heart of bronze, at least?” Mei looked unimpressed, so McCree let out another sigh. “Look, he _is_ a good kid. Sure, he’s got a few screws loose, but livin’ in a literal hellhole does that to a person. Ever been to Australia?”

Mei slowly shook her head.

“Well, I have and trust me when I say hellhole doesn’t even begin to describe it.” McCree shifted his gaze towards Junkrat outside, who noticed them and started waving enthusiastically. McCree waved back, so did Mei, although much more hesitantly, and the junker grinned toothily, before he returned to doing whatever. “To be honest, I’m more surprised by the fact that they joined us than the fact that Winston gave them the offer in the first place.”

Mei gave him another puzzled look. “Why?”

“You know the insurance company Hyde Global?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Well, the CEO offered them a deal. Junkrat accepted, told me he wanted to try goin’ legit for once, happy that a suit wasn’t tryin’ to take advantage of them for once.” McCree smiled wryly. “It was a set up, of course. CEO framed them to gain profit. See why I was so surprised they actually agreed to join?”

Mei looked down, pondering. She peered at the junkers again, still laughing and having fun outside. McCree laid a hand on her shoulder, patting it once.

“Just give them a chance to prove themselves, ‘specially Junkrat. Not sayin’ ya have to like him, but not starin’ daggers at him all the time would be nice.”

Mei opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off with a shout coming from outside.

“Oi, you two!”

Both of them turned, and Mei nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Junkrat’s face pressed up against the window. He gave them a wide grin, and McCree opened the window.

“Oi, wanna join us? You’ve been standing ‘ere staring at us this whole time, so I figured maybe you wanted to join in on the fun!” Junkrat explained cheerily. “Also, I’ve finally found a way to make bombs outta these,” he held up one of Morrison’s biotic emitters. “Instead of healing people, it’ll make ‘em go ka-boom instead! Oooh, wanna help me replace his stuff with these instead? It’ll be a,” Junkrat giggled, “ _blast!_ Get it?”

Mei looked at him with horror written all over her face. She turned towards McCree, asking with her eyes if he really wanted her to give _this guy_ a chance. McCree just grinned in return.


	14. "Genius has its limits. Stupidity, on the other hand, knows no bounds. "

“What’cha workin’ on, big guy?”

Winston looked up from his computer and upon seeing McCree standing by the doorway, grinned and waved him over to take a closer look. “Just a little pet project I’ve started ever since Mr. Fawkes—ah, Junkrat and Roadhog joined our ranks.”

McCree walked closer, leaning on Winston’s shoulder to further inspect the tiny gadget in Winston’s huge paws. “What’s it do? Looks like a real tiny version of one of those shield doohickeys you carry ‘round.”

Winston made an amused sound at his mention of ‘shield doohickey’. “Yes, these are just like my barrier projectors, except I reprogrammed them so that the shields, instead of forming a dome, form on surfaces instead.”

McCree furrowed his eyebrows. “So it’ll just layer on top of a wall or somethin’?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“So,” he drawled out, his head cocked sideways, “what’s it got to do with the junkers joinin’?”

“Well,” Winston pushed up his glasses, “ever since that _incident_ ,” there’s a pause, and McCree winced, knowing that he was referring to the thing-that-never-happened. It _never_ happened. They all agreed on that. Winston cleared his throat. “Ever since then, I decided that some measures should be taken to prevent further incident.”

“So what? Your just gonna go ‘round stickin’ these on the walls and floors all over the base?” McCree raised an incredulous eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, your shields ain’t exactly permanent.”

“Actually, I was going to have Athena activate them whenever Junkrat was in a room bearing any explosives.”

“Basically, whenever Junkrat’s in a room?”

“… essentially.”

McCree laughed as he got up, no longer leaning on Winston’s furry shoulder. “Sorry, pardner, but I don’t think that’s gonna work. At all.” The scientist gave him a look, and McCree held up his hands. “I’m just sayin’. Genius has its limits,” he motioned towards the little gizmo in Winston’s paw. “Stupidity, on the other hand, knows no bounds. And I’m normally not a bettin’ man, but if I was, I’d say that the kid’s gonna end up doin’ _more_ damage to the base in the end. And he’d do it within a week.”

Winston chuckled. “What are you willing to bet?”

A grin formed on McCree’s mouth. “Twenty jars of peanut butter outta my own wallet.”

“Fifty.”

“Thirty jars. I draw the line there. Not everyone’s as loaded as you are,” McCree crossed his arms, and Winston sighed, but nodded in agreement. “And what do _I_ get if I win?”

Winston brought up a paw to his face, scratching his chin in thought. “I will set up a recon mission for you.”

“More work? Sorry, pardner, but that’s not exactly—”

“A recon mission alone with Shimada,” Winston continued, cutting him off, and McCree closed his mouth. This time, he was the one scratching his chin. It meant having to do a recon mission, but it was a recon mission _alone_ with Hanzo.

“Three missions,” he bargained.

“Two.”

“Fine. But one of them better be a real quiet mission where there’s a really low chance of anythin’ actually happenin’.”

“Deal.”

McCree stuck out his hand for the gorilla to shake, and he did. The deal was sealed.

Two days later, Winston finished installing his little gizmos all over the base. He even put a couple out on the courtyard. And just to be extra sure, he made sure to place them in spots mostly hidden. Now, all they had to do was wait.

For five days, the entire base was explosion-free. Explosion damage-free anyway. There were still loud booms coming from both inside and outside the base, but now, it was no longer accompanied by the sounds of walls crashing down or other structural damage. Winston gave McCree a smug look, but the gunslinger just shook his head. “Just you wait,” he said, still confident he was going to win. And he was right.

Early the next morning, the entire courtyard blew up. When McCree arrived, Peacekeeper at the ready, Morrison was already there, growling out a lecture at Junkrat, who was doing a very poor attempt at hiding his shit-eating grin. Despite Morrison’s show of anger however, there was a biotic emitter on the ground next to Junkrat. Morrison looked like a disappointed dad lecturing his troublemaker kid while tending to said kid’s injuries at the same time. The thought made McCree smile.

“What’s going on? Is anyone hurt?” Angela asked as she appeared, still in her PJ’s but she was holding her staff, and Fareeha followed shortly behind her, t-shirt inside out and with what looked like Angela’s Caduceus pistol. McCree smirked at them, and was about to comment on it when Winston suddenly lumbered into the scene.

“What happened?” he asked, looking at Morrison. “Enemy attack?”

“Ask _him_ ,” Morrison replied, jerking a thumb towards Junkrat, before marching away. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Explain,” Fareeha growled out, narrowing her eyes at Junkrat, looking supremely annoyed.

“Sheesh, calm down,” Junkrat rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Not loike I was interruptin’ anything. You were all just asleep, anyway.”

McCree snickered. “Actually—” he started, but stopped himself when both Fareeha and Angela turned to glare at him. He laughed nervously, backing away from the two ladies. “Um, never mind.”

Fareeha kept her glare on him for an extra two seconds, before turning it back to Junkrat, who raised his hands.

“Alroight, alroight. So I’ve been workin’ on me bombs these past few days, roight? And then I noticed they weren’t doing that much damage on the wall, no matter how big the boom. So I start wondering why, then I found _this_ stuck on one of them walls,” he reached into one of the pockets of his ratty pants, pulling out one of Winston’s gizmos. Winston blanched. McCree grinned.

“What is that?” Angela asked, and Junkrat shrugged his shoulders.

“No idea, _but_ ,” he held up a finger, before reaching out into his other pocket and pulling out another one of the little devices, this one looking slightly different. “I found a way to turn them into bombs!” he said proudly, giggling afterwards. Winston looked at it in horror while McCree’s grin grew wider.

“Look, look!” Junkrat turned around and threw it into the far corner of the courtyard, and everyone’s arms automatically went up to shield themselves because as soon as the bomb landed, a loud boom filled the air, the explosion charring stone and making dirt fly. He laughed, before turning back to his audience. “And then I accidentally dropped a handful of them all at the same time and the courtyard blew up and here we are now!" He threw everyone a huge grin, soot all over his body.

There was a long moment of silence, before McCree turned to Winston, his grin reaching from one ear to the other. “I win.”

Winston sighed in defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Junkrat causes all the stress
> 
> I finally updated. Hahaha. Also, note how Winston never specified _which_ Shimada he'll pair McCree with ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks to all the nice people who left comments and kudos. All grammatical mistakes are mine. Also, I got a tumblr now: http://annablosssom.tumblr.com ( ~~this is called shameless self-promotion btw~~ )


	15. "Either fish or cut bait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, folks, you guessed it right! McCree has been mctricked! (thank you firefliesburningmeup for that comment, made me lol)
> 
> And, this is less McCree giving advice and more McCree gave advice long ago and Genji's just reflecting it back. ~~haha, get it?~~ Just read and you'll see what I mean :) Hope you enjoy!

“Winston.”

“Yes, McCree?” came the scientist’s voice from the other end of the comm link.

“Why on god’s green earth am I on a recon mission with Genji?” McCree asked, straight to the point, leaning against the railings of their hotel room’s balcony. “If I remember correctly, I was promised two recon missions with _Hanzo_.”

“Technically, the earth is mostly blue since approximately seventy-one percent of its surface is covered in water. And if _I_ remember correctly, I never specified which Shimada brother you’ll be going with. You never asked for clarification either,” Winston shot back, and McCree could just imagine the cheeky grin the gorilla was probably sporting right now.

“Well-played, monkey man,” he said with narrowed eyes, and Winston chuckled, not even bothered by the nickname. “Well-played.”

“Yes, well,” Winston cleared his throat. “I trust you didn’t call me just to complain. Do you have anything to report?”

“Everything’s quiet ‘round here,” McCree replied, eyes scanning the busy streets of Los Angeles below him. Even during the nighttime, the city seemed to be buzzing with life. “No signs of Reaper anywhere so far.”

“Good.” A faint crash sounded from Winston’s end, followed by unintelligible shouting. Winston sighed. “I have to go.”

“Junkrat?”

“Not this time. I’m afraid Miss Vaswani and Lúcio are at it again.”

McCree laughed at that. “Oil and water, those two.”

“I know,” Winston said with an amused tone, before more shouting sounded out in the background. “Let me know if there are any developments regarding your mission.”

“Sure thing, pardner. But don’t forget,” McCree lowered his voice in a mock threatening manner, “you better hook me up with Hanzo on those two missions or else I’ll tell Angie where you keep your ‘unhealthy’ stash of peanut butter.”

“I’d think of another threat if I were you,” there’s a smirk in Winston’s voice. “I figured that you would use that one, so I took the initiative of moving my stash elsewhere.”

McCree let out a loud laugh. “I oughta keep in mind that you could be as crooked as a dog’s hind legs if you wanted to.” He shook his head with mirth as a distressed ‘Winston!’ came from the background. Most likely Hana. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full. I’ll update you as soon as we’ve got something. McCree out.” He pocketed his communicator then turned to enter the room after giving the skyline one last look.

Genji, who was lying down on the small bed (the _only_ bed, McCree noted, and he cursed Winston even more for sending Genji instead of his brother), glanced up from his phone as McCree slid the balcony door shut. The gunslinger gave him a small wave before plopping down by the foot of the bed, Genji bending his legs to give him space.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of fingers tapping against a phone’s screen and a soft Japanese curse every now and then. McCree took out a cigar, idly wondering what game Genji was playing as a frustrated growl escaped the cyborg’s lips.

“Hana challenged you to beat her score, didn’t she?” McCree asked, eyes still facing the ceiling as he lit his cigar.

“ _Hai_ ,” was Genji’s answer. “The game she chose this time happens to be incredibly frustrating.”

McCree hummed, blowing out a plume of smoke, watching it slowly rise into the air. “Frustrating, huh? Thought Zenyatta’d taught you how to control yer frustrations a long time ago.”

“I assure you that this is a very different type of frustration.”

McCree only hummed in reply again, taking another drag from his cigar. They’re silent again for a few more minutes. After a few moments, Genji shifted, putting away his phone.

“McCree.”

“Yeah?”

“You like my brother, do you not?”

McCree tensed, very nearly choking on his cigar. He forced his body to relax, keeping his eyes on the cracked ceiling. He exhaled, trying to make it look casual. “Sure I do.” He winced at how his voice cracked slightly at the end, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, he’s a good shot. A real good shot, and he’s a real smart fella, too. And… and I ain’t foolin’ you, am I?”

Genji laughed. “I’m sorry, but there is no way you can, what was it, pull wool over my eyes on this matter.”

McCree groaned, putting out his cigar stub, then flicking it towards the bin in the corner. “Fine. Yeah, I like Hanzo.” He held his breath, preparing himself for whatever Genji had to say.

“I know,” was Genji’s only response.

McCree blinked, head turning to face him. “That all you gonna say?”

Genji let out another laugh. “McCree, you and my brother are grown men. Whether or not you choose to pursue Hanzo is none of my business.” Genji looked at him, tilting his head in a way that showed that he was smiling underneath his faceplate. “That and I know you, McCree. You would never hurt Hanzo, not willingly. He enjoys being around you, even if he does not say so himself.” He chuckled. “You are a good man, McCree. And a good match for my brother.”

McCree blinked once more, before a smile lit up his face. “Aw, shucks. Didn’t know you thought so highly of me,” he said, laughing a bit in embarrassment.

“That does not mean however that I won’t hesitate to cut you where you stand should you ever break his heart,” Genji added just a little too happily, and McCree’s laugh turned into a nervous chuckle.

 _But I’m not even_ dating _him? Why are you talking like I am_. That’s what crossed McCree’s mind, but instead he said, “I’ll keep that in mind then. Gotta ask you one thing though.”

“Yes?”

“I know you’re a ninja and all that but,” McCree shifted uncomfortable, “am I really that obvious?”

Genji shook his head. “There’s a betting pool, McCree.”

“Wait, what?!” He sat up abruptly, looking at Genji in growing horror. “What bettin’ pool?”

“A betting pool on how long it would take you to ask Hanzo out,” the cyborg informed him, amusement clear in his voice. McCree groaned again, putting his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

He lifted his head, giving Genji a hopeful look. “But yer brother doesn’t know, right?”

“McCree,” Genji shot him a blank look from behind his face plate, voice blunt, “we were born to a clan of assassins, trained to read body language and facial cues at a very early age. If half the base knows, then there is a very, _very_ good chance that he also knows.” He watched as the hope quickly disappeared from the gunslinger’s eyes, horror replacing it almost immediately.

“So he knows?”

“It’s very likely that he does.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Mmhm.”

“ _Shiiiiiiit_.”

McCree buried his head in his hands once again, rubbing his face. Genji knew. Half the team knew. _Hanzo_ knew. He squeezed his eyes shut, mortified. He heard a soft laugh, then he felt a hand pat his back in consolation.

“There, there,” Genji said, grin in his voice, prompting McCree to throw him a glare. “If it helps, Hanzo does not know about the betting pool.” An unspoken ‘yet’ hung at the end of his sentence because there is no way Hanzo wasn’t going to find out. It’ll only be a matter of time before someone accidentally lets it slip.

“Also, do not be too cross with Winston,” Genji spoke again, diverting McCree’s attention back to him. McCree’s face scrunched with confusion.

“Cross with him ‘bout what?”

“About sending me instead of Hanzo.” McCree stilled again, but Genji kept on speaking with an undertone of amusement. “I know of the bet you had with Winston, McCree.”

 “Now, how the heck do you—”

“A ninja never reveals his secrets,” Genji cut off. “Anyway, do not be cross with him. I asked him to send me, after all.”

 “First of all,” McCree held up a finger, “I ain’t cross with him. Second of all, why?”

“I simply wished to give you some advice on how to court Hanzo,” Genji replied cheerfully, and McCree nearly choked on nothing.

“I _ain’t_ courtin’ him!”

“But you like him, do you not?”

McCree shifted a bit. “Yeah, but—”

“Then why are you not doing anything?”

“Because it ain’t that simple!” McCree threw his arms up. “I mean, what if he doesn’t like me back and I end up makin’ things weird between us? And if he _does_ like me back, what if it doesn’t work out?”

Genji gave him a look, and McCree had the feeling that he was raising an eyebrow. “You are starting to sound like a teenager, McCree.”

The realization made McCree cringe. “Oh god, I am.” McCree flopped back down on the bed with a groan, and neither of them said anything for a while.

McCree was dying inside. Not only did half the team know about his stupid crush on Hanzo, there was a very real chance that Hanzo himself knew about it as well. Now, he was alone in a bed with Genji who wanted to give him advice on how to court his brother.

 _It could be worse_ , a small voice inside his head, sounding like Jack for some weird reason, said. _You could be here alone with Hanzo instead. Imagine how_ that _would’ve turned out._

 _I think that’d be better actually_ , another voice, this time similar to Gabriel’s, replied. _At least then you wouldn’t be aware that half the team was betting on whether you and Hanzo start dating. Ignorance is bliss._

McCree frowned. Why was Gabe voice much more sensible than Jack voice? It should be the other way around. Before his thoughts could start to wander further away, Genji spoke again.

“Do you remember what you said to me back when I was first recruited into Overwatch?”

His head lazily rolled to the side to see that Genji was staring at him. “What?”

“You told me to either fish or cut bait, act or get out of the way.”

A furrow formed between McCree’s eyebrows, and he hummed, trying to remember before giving up with a shrug. “Yeah, sounds like somethin’ I’d say.”

“Those words spurred me into taking action against the Shimada-gumi, to help take down the people who were once my family,” Genji continued, tone much more serious now. “It occurs to me that I haven’t thanked you yet. At that time, it seemed everyone was coddling me. You were the only one who actually called me out for being a coward. Thank you for that.”

McCree remained quiet. At the time, Genji was still coming to terms with being a cyborg, with losing half of his body. He remembered how angry he had been even months after recovery, yet no matter what Gabriel or Jack or Angela did, Genji _refused_ to take a stand against the Shimada Clan. McCree remembered a shouting match between them, neither backing down until McCree called Genji a coward. He remembered that Genji disappeared for a few days afterwards, only to return with a plan to destroy the Shimada Empire.

“Now, I feel like I must return your words,” Genji said, breaking McCree’s train of thought. “Fish or cut bait, McCree.” And with that, the cyborg took out his phone.

 McCree stared at Genji for a long moment while the ninja continued playing a game on his phone. Fish or cut bait. Do something or make way for those who will. Confess or agree to be nothing more than a friend to Hanzo. He chewed on his lower lip, thinking about it.

The second option was safer, and heartbreak disappeared over time. The first one was trickier, riskier. Taking it could very well mean ending his friendship with Hanzo. Worst case scenario, it’ll be too awkward between them for them to even work together. The risk was too high.

 _But no pain, no gain, right?_ His inner Jack voice asked.

 _No risk, no reward, pendejo,_ added inner Gabriel voice.

Yeah. That’s right. This wasn’t like him, worrying about the ‘what ifs’ without having even tried. He sat up with newfound determination. _No pain, no gain_ , he repeated to himself. He took a deep breath, his mind made up.

“When you put it that way,” he drawled out, facing Genji who glanced up at him curiously, “I guess I’ll have to start plannin’ out how I’m gonna confess.”

Genji’s fingers stopped moving, and McCree was a hundred percent sure he was grinning like a shark underneath his visor. He laughed. “Well then,” he said, robotic voice merry, “you better get started. Hanzo would not settle for anything less than perfect.”

McCree nodded. “Got it.” Suddenly, a small chirping sound came from his communicator. He took it out. “We’ve got a possible sightin’ of Reaper downtown. Ain’t too far, but we best skedaddle ‘fore we lose him.”

“Then let’s move.”

They both got up from the bed, getting their gear and leaving the hotel room in quick succession. As they ran to their destination, McCree saw Genji take out his phone and send someone a text.

“Who you textin’?”

“Zenyatta. I forgot to inform him back in the hotel that a huge fortune is coming our way.”

“What?”

“It’s all thanks to you, McCree,” was Genji’s cryptic reply, but before the gunslinger could ask what the heck he was talking about, Genji ran ahead. “Let us hurry before our friend gets away!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three cheers for McHanzo!!!
> 
> Also, thank you so much for your comments! I hope you liked this chapter. Sorry it took so long to update though. School's coming up and all that. Thanks for reading and constructive criticism is always appreciated :)


	16. "If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to post. It's been half-finished for quite a while, but since school's back, I haven't had much time to work on it (also, I've been working on another story on the side so yeah).
> 
> Enjoy reading :)

McCree put up a hand to cover his mouth as he yawned, absentmindedly scratching his backside with the other. He wandered into the kitchen and upon reaching the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, made himself some plain toast, and made his way to sit at the small table.

“G’morning, mate! Perfect day for some mayhem, am I roight?” Junkrat chirped cheerfully beside Roadhog as soon as McCree sat in front of him. The gunslinger grunted at the junker’s volume, but he managed a small greeting in return. Junkrat gave him a grin, before continuing whatever story he was telling Roadhog, hands gesturing wildly while the bigger man simply listened as he ate his breakfast, and McCree allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts, Junkrat’s voice fading into the background.

They were like that for a few peaceful minutes, when Junkrat abruptly stopped talking.

“Good morning, my friends,” Zenyatta greeted as he floated by, Genji following close behind him. McCree waved at both of them, but Junkrat just narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not your _friend_ , mate,” Junkrat hissed, looking very much like a wildcat trying to scare others off its territory, his voice dripping with distrust. Genji stepped forward threateningly as if to defend his master, but Zenyatta simply hummed, stretching out one arm to stop Genji.

“Very well,” his robotic voice said, still as diplomatic as ever, before turning to Genji. “Do not worry, my student. Aggression will not dissolve anger, but it will further it.”

Junkrat snorted, muttering something underneath his breath, before choosing to completely ignore the pair, turning back to Roadhog.

McCree watched the whole exchange impassively, drinking his coffee. He briefly considered talking to Junkrat about his attitude, but then again, he was acting way more civilized compared to the last time McCree saw them interact, so he decided to let it slide. Besides, it was too damn early for this and he hadn’t finished his morning cup yet. That, and he still hadn’t finished formulating Plan Sway Hanzo Into Taking You Out, or in short, Plan S.H.I.— Yeah, he needed to work on the name.

“Good morning.” Ana Amari strode into the room, and McCree raised his mug in greeting, still absentmindedly thinking about how the heck he was going to confess.

“G’morning, ma’am!” Junkrat said cheerily, grinning toothily at her. McCree supposed it made sense how much the junker seemed to like Ana. From what he had gathered, Junkrat never really had a mother figure in his life, always skittish around women. When Ana joined, he was doubly so, but the moment she introduced herself with that motherly smile she always seemed to wear, it was like someone flipped a switch inside Junkrat. He went from trying to intimidate her to trying to _impress_ her. The mask covered his face, but McCree was pretty sure even Roadhog was shocked by Junkrat’s sudden change of heart. He had to admit that it was pretty adorable though.

Ana smiled at the table before going to the cupboard, and McCree allowed his thoughts to wander again. Flowers and chocolate? Maybe, but that wouldn’t be enough to impress Hanzo. He should play his guitar. He nodded to himself. Nothing like a good ol’ serenade to get someone to fall for you. Perhaps he could even write an original song. He frowned thoughtfully. Perhaps Lúcio would lend him a hand. He’s gotta make sure the kid keeps his mouth shut about it though. If there’s one thing McCree’s sure of, it’s that Hanzo liked his privacy, and he’s going to respect that. So no public confessions. Also, if he _does_ get rejected, it’ll at least save him some face.

An amused chuckle broke McCree from his thoughts, and he blinked, eyes focusing on Ana who sat in front of him, her chin resting on her fist. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head mirthfully. “I just forgot how adorable you are.”

McCree blinked again. “Adorable?”

Ana hummed in agreement, taking a sip of her tea. “Especially when you are so obviously smitten.”

He balked. “I—”

“So who’s the lucky person? It’s one of the new recruits, isn’t it?” Suddenly, she frowned, giving him a look. “It’s not Hana Song, is it?”

“ _What?!_ No!” he all but yelled. “Do I look like a cradle snatcher to you?!”

“Well, you could certainly pass for one,” she teased and laughed at the expression McCree made, a cross between offense and amusement. All of the sudden, she stiffened, eyes trained on the doorway. McCree flicked his gaze to the side and sees Fareeha standing there, just as still as Ana. The tension in the room was thick, and Roadhog got up from the table and left the room, dragging Junkrat along with him (“But I’m not done eating yet!” “Bring your plate then.”), leaving McCree alone with the two women, Genji and Zenyatta having left kitchen five minutes prior.

Ana broke the silence first. “Fareeha,” she said, smiling hesitantly at her daughter. “Good morning.”

McCree watched as Fareeha only saluted in reply with a terse ‘Captain Amari’ before heading to the coffeemaker. Ana’s face fell at her cold greeting, and the next five minutes were spent in tense silence as Fareeha quickly made herself breakfast and promptly left the room. When she left, Ana’s shoulders slumped forward, and quiet blanketed the room.

“What should I do, Jesse?” she asked softly, gaze focused on the cup in her hands. “I overheard her talking with Angela—goodness, I can’t believe they’re together now—,” she forced out a laugh, “I overheard them yesterday.” Her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened. “Fareeha kept on talking as if I wasn’t her mother, Jesse, as if she refused to acknowledge me as such. Fareeha, my own d _aughter_.” She lowered her teacup with a clink, and said with a sad whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”

A moment passed before McCree opened his mouth. “Have you talked to her yet? I’m not talkin’ about letters or shit like that. I mean _really_ talkin’ to her, face t’face.”

“You think I haven’t _tried_ , Jesse?” she replied. “I’ve been trying ever since I came back but she won’t listen, does not want to listen… and I don’t blame her.” She sighed heavily, sadly. “Maybe there is no chance of getting back what we once had.”

“Damn right there ain’t,” McCree said, and the bite in his voice surprised not only her, but even himself, and she looked up. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling tired, before meeting her gaze and continuing with a milder tone, wanting her to understand. “You were _dead_ , Ana. For _years_. You left us, left _her_ t’bury an empty casket. There’s no way things are goin’ back to how they once were.”

Ana gave him an empty smile. “I see…”

“But that don’t mean you can’t make things better.”

She chuckled, but it was devoid of happiness, and shook her head. McCree sighed.

“Look,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'. Pretendin’ everything’s just fine and dandy, actin’ as if the years that you left your daughter thinkin’ you were dead didn’t happen, all that’s just gonna make her feel worse.” McCree smiled wryly, thinking about Jack and Gabriel. “Trust me, I know. So stop diggin’. Find a way outta that hole.”

She’s silent for a long moment, considering his words. “And if it’s too late?” she asked, so quiet McCree almost didn’t hear her. She looked up, searching his face. “If I find out I dug too deep and no longer have any chance of getting out? Then what?”

He placed a hand over hers and squeezed. “Then life goes on. But at least no one could say you didn’t try your best to make things right again.”

“…”

He waited for his words to sink in. A moment later, Ana let out a small huff that quietly transitioned into a light chuckle. She heaved out another sigh, but this one didn’t sound defeated. It was a sigh of relief. Her shoulders relaxed, as if the world she had been carrying on them felt just a bit lighter.

“Oh, Jesse.” She smiled and put her other hand on top of the one gripping hers. An unspoken thanks. McCree grinned back as she let go of his hand. “I must admit, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be the one giving me advice.”

He let out a laugh, partly because of her statement but mostly because of relief. The tension in the room was gone now. “Jack said the same thing.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “Nice t’know I could still surprise you old coots.”

She arched a brow. “Watch your tongue, Jesse J. McCree,” she said, a teasing glint in her eye. “You haven’t outshot nor outskilled these ‘old coots’ just yet.”

“Don’t need to, ma’am.” He shot her a charming smile, which just made the corner of her lips tremble in amusement. “Once y’all retired, I’ll officially be the best in the game. Just gotta wait ‘til then.”

Laughter fell from her lips and McCree can’t help but smile in nostalgia, remembering the days when her laughter was less subdued, rivaling Reinhardt’s in volume. Eventually, her laughter tapered into soft chuckles, then into silence, and her remaining eye gazed at him fondly.

“You’ve grown a lot these past few years, Jesse.” She smiled, pride and sadness crossing her face. “I’m so sorry I missed it.”

“Hey, now none of that,” he said. “What matters is that you’re _here_ now, so don’t go beatin’ yourself up. ‘Sides,” he gave her a warm grin, “I’ve got a feelin’ you don’t plan on missin’ much anymore.”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. After all,” she smirked, “I wouldn’t want to miss out on you courting that Hanzo boy.”

McCree faltered, the top of his cheeks turning pink and she laughed again. “I thought you didn’t—”

“Now,” she cut him off, resting her chin on her hand, “I know you must have a plan in mind already. Go on, tell me.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Still as nosy as ever.” He still ended up discussing his plans with her in the end, a cold cup of tea and a half-finished mug of coffee on the table forgotten. Soon, she left, off to find her daughter and McCree sat there staring at the two cups on the table. He closed his eyes as a smile graced his lips. It’s good to have her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO LEFT A KUDOS AND/OR COMMENTS!! You guys really make my day. Thank you so much *bows down gratefully*
> 
> And do not worry, Plan S.H.I.T.Y.O will ~~hopefully~~ commence next chapter ;)


	17. "The best sermons are lived, not preached."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OPERATION S.H.I.T.Y.O. IS OFFICIALLY GOING TO COMMENCE......... NEXT CHAPTER!!! Yay! For now, have some Grandpa!
> 
> Also, I'm very sorry for the long wait.

“FAREEHA!” Reinhardt’s loud voice bellowed out.

Alarm filled McCree as he cursed, running as fast as he can towards where he last saw the two of them. He turned around the corner and was greeted by the sight of Reinhardt charging into a group of Talon agents, almost as if he was trying to get himself killed. _No,_ McCree’s eyes darted towards where Pharah lay on the ground unconscious, one side of her combat suit looking as if it just took a direct blast from a bomb. _Not trying to get himself killed, trying to get their_ attention.

“Zenyatta, need some healin’ over here,” he says into his comm as he knelt beside her, keeping an eye out for any approaching enemies while trying his best to assess the damage even though most of it was probably hidden beneath her suit.

_“I am quite far away from your position but I will try to get there as soon as I can.”_

“Appreciate it.”

A groan escaped her, and she blearily opened her eyes. McCree gave her a smirk. “Welcome back to the land of the livin’.”

Pharah tried to sit up, a pained his falling from her lips the moment she did so. McCree helped her back down with a ‘slow down now’ and she muttered her thanks. “Reinhardt?”

He glanced behind him just in time to see the gargantuan man brutally swing his hammer into a poor man’s side, producing a loud cracking sound audible even from where McCree and Pharah were. “He’s doin’ alright. How’s your side?”

“Not as bad as it looks,” she huffed out, face twitching when she shifted, and he gave her a disbelieving look. “My suit took most of the damage. I can—”

“ _You_ can just lie down there and wait for Zenyatta,” McCree drawled out, interrupting her with a stern look.

“I can still fight.”

“How do you expect to do that if you can’t even sit up?”

“I’ll find a way. We have to complete the mission.”

McCree clicked his tongue. “Stubborn as a mule. Or maybe your mother, who, speakin’ of, would be against you fightin’ with your side lookin’ like that, by the by.”

She scowled at him, and a small staring contest ensued, lasted for fifteen seconds, before a loud roar caught their attention. They turned around and saw Reinhardt charging towards an enemy. McCree’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the Talon agent reach into his jacket and pull out a small cylindrical item. _Grenade._ In the blink of an eye, he drew his Peacekeeper and shot twice, Pharah’s cry of ‘Reinhardt!’ drowned out by the twin claps of bullets. The Talon agent let out a loud shriek of pain as the grenade exploded in his hand, taking his arm with it, only to be silenced midscream by the second bullet going through his skull.

A second later, McCre felt a splitting headache forming, metal hand gripping the side of his head in response to the pain. Reinhardt, who had still been charging towards the enemy during the explosion, was thrown back by the blast and was now on the floor, groaning in pain.

McCree looked around, only letting himself sit down once he was sure there were no enemies left. He let himself fall back on the ground with a groan, closing his eyes and trying to will the headache away. Pharah, who sat up in alarm during the explosion followed suit, lying down with a wince. The familiar clunking of Reinhardt’s armor reached McCree’s ears, and he cracked open one of his eyes to see Reinhardt collapse next to him, making it so that the three of them were lying down on the floor next to each other with McCree in the middle.

His lips twitched in amusement. To a stranger, it would’ve seemed as if they were just three friends taking a nice nap out in the sunshine. Except they were covered in dirt and wounds, surrounded by rubble and dead Talon agents, and the sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden behind clouds.

“‘Simple mission’ my ass,” McCree said once his headache went from ‘extremely painful’ to ‘somewhat tolerable’. Reinhardt let out a laugh. Fareeha chuckled.

“Winston did warn us that there might be more Talon agents that expected,” she said. “The grenade launcher was a surprise though.”

“ _Ja_.” Reinhardt nodded in agreement, then he sat up, frowning at Fareeha. “You shouldn’t have been so reckless. You could have died!”

Fareeha gave him a disbelieving stare from where she lay, before turning to McCree, who was snickering. “Did you just hear that? _He_ just called me reckless.”

Reinhardt spoke up before McCree could reply. “You were! What you did was extremely foolish and dangerous!”

“Pardner, listen,” McCree cut in. “The best sermons are lived, not preached. What you did was pretty damn foolish as well.”

Reinhardt opened his mouth as if to argue, before shutting it once more. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, before shrugging his shoulders. “Very well. I guess I should not, what was it, be a pot calling the pan black?”

“Kettle,” McCree corrected as the other man laid back down.

“He should not be a kettle calling the pan black?” Fareeha asked.

“What? No, it’s the—” He glanced towards her and saw the smiling curve of her lips, and McCree rolled his eyes. She smirked at him.

“Yeah, I get it. You’re just messin’ with me. Haha.” He turned his gaze towards the sky again. “Very funny.” She laughed.

“But why ‘black’?” Reinhardt mused out loud. “Most kettles and pots I’ve seen are silver. So why black?”

“I dunno. I guess it’s ‘cause it’s catchier.”

“If that’s the case, then why ‘kettles and pots’?” Fareeha asked. “‘Pots and pans’ is catchier as well, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but ‘pot callin’ the pan black’ sounds weird.”

“All American sayings sound weird. Or at least, yours do.”

“No, they don’t! Reinhardt, tell her it ain’t so.”

“I’m sorry, my friend, but they do.” Reinhardt grinned sheepishly at McCree, who looked as if he was just stabbed in the back.  “For example, ‘I’m…’ what was that thing you say… ah!” Reinhardt cleared his throat, and did his best cowboy impression. “‘I’m your blueberry!’”

Fareeha laughed loudly, only to stop and wince as it aggravated her wound. It didn’t stop her from expressing her amusement though. “Blueberry?”

McCree’s affronted look made the two snicker. “It’s _huckle_ berry. _Huckleberry_. And it means I’m your man!”

“Yes, we got that. But why strawberry?” Reinhardt asked gleefully, wearing a grin that most people would call ‘shit-eating’.

“ _Huckle—_ ”

“And how did they relate ‘blackberries’ to ‘men’?” Fareeha asked, cutting him off, equally amused.

“It is as you said. McCree’s sayings are weird.”

“Indeed.”

They exchanged a laugh, and McCree scowled at them.

“I hate this fuckin’ team.”

That only made them laugh louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took too long to update. Reasons why: a) school, b) been working on another Overwatch fic (Zenyatta and Widowmaker friendship), c) wallet was stolen as I was walking home from school, so that kinda threw me into a funk :/
> 
> Anyway, next chapter is going to be Roadhog's, and I _promise_ operation S.H.I.T.Y.O. will happen soon. In fact, feel free to spam me with daily reminders to write it at my tumblr: annablosssom.tumblr.com ( ~~what do you mean this is shameless self promotion? I have no idea what you're talking about~~ )
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support and kudoses and comments (especially the comments; never fails to make me smile ^^)! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and have a nice day (or night cuz time zones) :)


	18. "Say it plain and save some breath for breathin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO FINALLY FOUND THE TIME TO FINISH THIS CHAPTER?!?!?! ITS NOT THE BEST BUT ITS SOMETHING!!

“That’s it,” McCree declared loudly, slapping his hands on the wooden table, eyes narrowed at Zenyatta, who only hummed peacefully, collecting his winnings. “You’re cheatin’, aren’t ya?”

“My, such bold accusations, McCree,” Zenyatta said cheerfully, radiating with innocence, and McCree just _knew_ he was doing it on purpose. “I am most certainly not cheating.”

Torbjörn laughed, clapping McCree’s back using his mechanical arm. “That’s right, lad. Don’t be a sore loser now! After all, you only lost nine out of the _ten_ games you’ve played against Zeny here!” He cackled again as McCree glowered at him.

“Y’know what? I’m out.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, throwing his arms up. “Have fun playin’ without me.”

“Aw, don’t go yet! You’ve nearly broken your record!” Torbjörn called out as he walked away. “Only two more losses and then you’ll have a new high streak!”

He ignored him, waving goodbye and exiting the room, Zenyatta’s chuckles and Torbjörn’s loud laughter fading as he walked. It was all friendly teasing. Besides, he has to see if Lúcio finished with the final version of Hanzo’s song yet. They made a deal. Lúcio would compose the song provided that McCree wrote the lyrics (“Aw, Eastwood! Didn’t know you were a poet! Man, these lyrics are so sweet it’s giving me cavities!” “…shut it, kid.”) and gave him all the ‘deets’ once the big event happened (which meant also giving Hana the ‘deets’ by extension, which she would share with Lena, which basically meant all of Overwatch would know by the end of the day).

He did a mental checklist as he leisurely walked towards Lúcio’s quarters, making sure everything would go smoothly tomorrow. Tomorrow. The day when he and Hanzo finally go on that recon mission Winston promised. His insides clenched nervously, and McCree wanted to laugh at how schoolboy he was acting. It was really funny. Crushes weren’t supposed to happen when you’re thirty-seven. But then again, he’s never really met someone like Hanzo before…

 “McCree.”

“Hm?”

The gunslinger looked behind him to see Roadhog standing there, as big and intimidating as ever. McCree blinked, confused. He was pretty sure the big man hadn’t fully forgiven him for the birthday stunt. Certainly didn’t help that he used more than a few flashbangs just so the bigger man wouldn’t catch him.

“Howdy.”

“Need to talk.”

McCree blinked once more. “Uh, sure thing. ‘bout what?”

“Not here,” Roadhog mumbled through his mask, looking a bit uncomfortable.

Well, it didn’t seem like Roadhog was mad at him. McCree nodded, apprehensive yet at the same time curious as to why he would approach him. He really hoped it wasn’t to lead him to some dark corner of the base just to beat him up. That’d be sad. “Alright. Lead the way, pardner.”

A short walk later found the two of them in a corner of the garage, McCree looking around what Roadhog seemed to have converted into his workshop. It was… tidy. And by that, McCree didn’t mean ‘tidier than expected yet still within the realm of expectation’. No, he meant tidy as in ‘so tidy even Symmetra would nod in approval’. Then again, McCree mused, Roadhog was probably tired of all the mess Junkrat caused. Would make sense if he kept his own space neat at the very least.

A grunt caught his attention and when he looked up, Roadhog gestured towards a stool. McCree nodded in thanks as he took a seat, a bit surprised at the sudden show of politeness but in a good way, watching as Roadhog sat on his own stool in front of him. “So,” he started. “What was it you wanted to talk ‘bout?”

“Junkrat.”

McCree blinked for the third time. “What ‘bout him?”

Roadhog shifted almost awkwardly. “Need help talking to him.”

Need help talking to him? Roadhog? Needing help talking to _Junkrat_? McCree stared at him blankly in confusion. Why would he even— Oh.

Realization dawned on him, mind going back to three days ago, Roadhog and Junkrat shouting at each other (well, it was actually more of Junkrat shouting and Roadhog growling insults), neither backing down until it devolved into an ugly fistfight that Ana and Jack quickly stopped (good thing too, because given a few more minutes, the _fist_ would’ve been replaced by _fire_ ). No one, aside from the two junkers and maybe Athena, were exactly sure what started it. All they know is that Junkrat had been adamant on ignoring Roadhog ever since then, either holing himself up in his lab or seeking the company of the younger members.

“Wait,” he furrowed his brow, “don’t tell me ya still haven’t talked to him?”

“S’not my fault if he keeps avoiding me,” Roadhog growled out, before catching himself, letting out a frustrated grunt. “Cornering him usually works but he’s gotten good at avoiding that. That’s why I need your help.”

McCree fell silent in consideration. Roadhog was a quiet fella, and very independent. He minded his own business as long as you didn’t mind his. Him asking for help, especially since it concerned _Junkrat_ , made the gunslinger wonder what on earth they could have been fighting about. Then again, it’s probably best he stayed in the dark about it. It was probably personal and not for him to know. He _was_ still curious about one more thing.

“Why me?”

He was not expecting Roadhog to just shrug his massive shoulders.

“Junkrat likes you.”

“C’mon, that can’t be it. I mean, if that was your reason, you could’ve gone to Ana.” McCree chuckled. “Lord knows she has more experience wranglin’ stubborn fools into gettin’ along with each other than I do.” Mostly because he was _one_ of the stubborn fools she was wrangling, but that was beside the point.

When Roadhog just grunted unhelpfully in reply, he sighed.

“Aw heck. Fine. I’ll try to talk to Junkrat for ya.” McCree got up from his seat, a hand reaching up to push down his hat. “At least y’know when to eat crow.”

 “Thanks.” There was a pause before he added, “I’m not… good at talking.” He watched as the other man shifted awkwardly, and he realized Roadhog might not be as unapproachable and unfriendly as he thought, just uncomfortable around people and, as he said, not that big on talking.

“You’re doin’ alright.” McCree gave him an understanding smile. “No need for decorated words to make your meanin' clear. Say it plain and save some breath for breathin', y’know.”

When Roadhog nodded, he grinned and tipped his hat in turn.

\--

“You’re late,” Hanzo stated bluntly as McCree shot him a grin.

“Sorry, darlin’. Needed to do a lil’ something ‘fore we left. So,” he gestured dramatically towards the entrance of the jet, even doing a little bow, “after you.”

He received a glare for his efforts, but the tiny twitch in Hanzo’s lips as he boarded the jet belied his cold stare, and McCree’s grin grew wider.

As they prepared for take-off, his eyes catch sight of a certain pair of junkers entering the hangar, heading towards their own jet. He watched as Junkrat gestures wildly, mouth running a mile a minute while Roadhog listened quietly beside him, as if those three days of avoiding each other never happened. When the bigger man saw him, he waved, receiving a thumbs up in return.

“McCree, are you listening?”

He turned away from the window to face Hanzo, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Sure thing, pardner.”

Hanzo looked as if he was going to chastise him, before letting out a silent huff and shaking his head. “Let’s just get this mission over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm really, _really_ sorry about the long wait. School is hectic. Also, this isn't my best chapter and I'm really uncertain about this, but Roadhog was really hard for me to pin down as a character. Hope this was passable.
> 
> Thankfully, long weekend this week so I'll be able to work on the next ~~maybe last?~~ chapter of this fic. Also, your comments and kudos give me life. *bows down gratefully* THANK YOU, EVERYONE!!
> 
> Feel free to point out mistakes since this wasn't really proofread because I've been busy. I'd really appreciate it ^^


	19. "Expect the unexpected."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws this chapter at you and runs like the wind*
> 
> I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG!!!!

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

McCree hums in reply, left arm hanging over the backrest, metal fingers tapping against the back of his seat. After their jet touched down, they immediately met with one of Zarya’s old friends, a friendly bear of a man named Vlad who gave them keys to a hovercar designed to blend in with the snowy terrains of Russia. There had been reports of possible terrorist activity in one of the peaceful omnic settlements in the area. Hanzo and McCree were to keep watch for an entire week, make sure to prevent any terrorist attacks from happening.

McCree glances at his partner, fingers still tapping. “So,” he starts casually, and knowing Hanzo is listening despite not showing any outward indication of it, makes sure to trail off to really get his attention. “So,” he repeats when the other man does not say anything.

“…”

“So…”

A moment and a sigh later, Hanzo asks, “Yes, McCree?”

 “… Are we there yet?”

“You are _insufferable_.”

“Ain’t answered my question.”

“No, we are not there yet,” Hanzo intones coolly, but his eyes narrow sharply in warning when McCree opens his mouth. “Would you like it if I gave you a coloring book? I believe we may have some crayons lying around here somewhere.” He looks at McCree pointedly. “Heaven forbid you get bored.”

McCree grins in response, lips stretching around his cigar, unlit upon Hanzo’s request (“We are in an enclosed space, fool. I am not spending the entire ride breathing in stale smoke.”). He stares at the side of Hanzo’s face, the archer briefly meeting his gaze before turning it back towards the road.

“Darlin’, time spent with you is never borin’.”

“It is a shame the same cannot be said about you.”

A gasp falls from McCree’s lips as he put a hand against his chest in fake hurt. He looks at Hanzo imploringly. “You wound me, darlin’. Insult me some more, why don’t ya?”

He catches Hanzo’s lips twitch into a grin, before it was immediately smoothed out into a neutral line. “You reek of cigar smoke and wear obnoxious clothing. You have absolutely no fashion sense.”

“What do you mean no fashion sense?!”

“McCree, you wear a belt that says BAMF.”

“Well, _pardon_ me, mister exposed pec—”

“You walk like a fool, _act_ like a fool—”

“Hey!”

“—and,” Hanzo glances at him, giving him a onceover, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smug smirk, “your hat is silly.”

McCree opens his mouth in stunned silence and stays like that for a moment, before narrowing his eyes. He raises a finger and points it. “You come into _my_ house—”

“We’ve arrived,” Hanzo cuts him off and abruptly stops the vehicle, swiftly unbuckling his seatbelt afterwards.

“Oh no, you don’t,” McCree says as he watches Hanzo leave the car. He unbuckles as well and follows after the man with hasty steps, their boots leaving imprints in the snow as they walked. “We ain’t done talkin’ yet.”

“We are,” is his curt reply. “Your hat is silly. The fact that you insist on wearing it at all times is a crime in itself.” He emphasizes his statement by giving McCree another onceover.

McCree looks down at himself, then back at Hanzo with a slight frown. So what if he wore his hat along with his thick winter coat, snow boots and ski pants, all white? It doesn’t really look bad.

“Don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

Hanzo raises a brow. “Evidently.”

A pout forms on McCree’s face. “That hurts, sweetheart. I mean, seriously.” When Hanzo says nothing and just continues marching forward, McCree shoves his hands into his jacket and stops, tilting his head as he calls out, “Maybe yer just _jealous_ ‘cause you can’t pull it off.”

Hanzo pauses at that, looking over his shoulder. McCree grins. Hanzo rolls his eyes, walking back until he was in front of the grinning cowboy. “Your hat is silly,” Hanzo says slowly, as if trying to get his point across to a particularly dense child.

McCree just smirks. “Like I said, jealou— _whoa!_ ”

Just like that, he’s suddenly face to face with Hanzo, a strong, warm hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down, the archer’s intense dark eyes gazing into his own. He can’t help but stay still as Hanzo remains silent for a long moment, before bringing up a hand, plucking McCree’s hat, and putting it on his own head. McCree blinks, stupefied and just barely registering that the archer’s hand was no longer pulling him down. He slowly straightens up and stares.

 “Your hat is silly,” Hanzo says, breaking the silence but not eye contact. Then, tilts the hat down, the wide brim covering one of his eyes, lips curling in a way that makes McCree’s stomach flip and his breath catch. “But that does not mean I cannot, as you say, ‘pull it off’.”

Then, in faster than a blink, the hat is back on McCree’s head and pulled down over his eyes. He curses, and soft, quiet laughter leave Hanzo’s lips, reddening McCree’s cheeks just a bit.

“Now hurry up, cowman, before you freeze to death.”

\--

After thanking a very friendly omnic for taking them to their lodging for a week, the dusty observation deck of a very old radio tower smack in the middle of the settlement, and after being thanked profusely for offering their services and protection, McCree collapses on the mattress provided by the grateful omnics. (There is only _one_ mattress, McCree notes with glee, before realizing Hanzo would probably offer to sleep on the floor instead. The thought makes him pout.)

“Now what?”

“We wait,” Hanzo replies, dropping his bag next to the bed before going around the room, inspecting it and looking for anything out of place. McCree watches him as he goes, silently appreciating how good Hanzo looks decked out in white.

“Where you goin’?” he asks when Hanzo heads towards the door.

“I’m going to scout the perimeter.” Hanzo pauses, looking over his shoulder and at McCree. “You are free to come with, if you’d like.”

“Nah,” he replies with a wave of his hand, outwardly acting disinterested. In truth, he _wants_ Hanzo to leave the room, wants to take the opportunity to begin preparing. He flashes Hanzo a lazy grin, lounging on the bed. “You go on ahead, darlin’.”

McCree does not miss the raised brow Hanzo sends his way. He holds his breath, almost certain the other man already guessed that he had something planned, but when Hanzo just nods and turns around, he relaxes.

 “Talk to the locals while you’re at it,” McCree suggests. “Might find out somethin’ useful.”

The other man considers it, before nodding. “Very well. I should be back in an hour or so.”

“Just take yer time,” McCree waves his hand dismissively. Finally, Hanzo leaves.

The sound of a door closing reaches his ears, but he doesn’t get up until the sound of Hanzo’s soft footfalls fade away. When they do, he springs up from the bed, striding across the room to where he left his baggage.

After all, he has some preparation left to do.

\--

Half an hour later, Hanzo comes back mildly confused.

He spent half an hour going around the settlement, talking with various omnics. Almost all of them went about their lives normally, seemingly not bothered by the threat of an impending terrorist attack on their peaceful town. And they told him just as much, apologizing that he and his partner had to go so far away just to appease their leader’s paranoia.

He scales the side of the radio tower, deciding it to be faster than walking up the stairs, and makes a choice to contact Winston later tonight. Surely he didn’t send them on a mission knowing there is only a really small chance of an actual attack happening.

When Hanzo reaches the windows, he pushes on it, only to find it locked. Luckily, McCree’s inside, sitting on the mattress with his back facing the window. Just as Hanzo is about to tap on the window to get the other man’s attention, he notices something odd.

On the mattress next to McCree is a bouquet of flowers. Which greatly confuses Hanzo because he is fairly certain gladioli don’t grow in Russia. Actually, he’s fairly certain there are no blossoming flowers within a five mile radius, as it is the middle of winter. So that means that McCree, for some absurd reason, _brought_ those flowers with him. All that’s left is to figure out why on earth he would do that.

When a bitter gust of wind nips at the back of his neck, Hanzo decides to just ask the man himself rather than to try and figure it out while freezing to death. He makes a series of taps on the glass. McCree starts, hand immediately going for his revolver as he turns around quickly, and Hanzo blinks.

Did McCree trim his beard in the time he was gone?

 McCree grins at him sheepishly, making his way towards the window, but Hanzo’s mind is focused on something else, spotting what looked like a guitar case in the corner of the room.

Flowers, a guitar, McCree _actually_ trimming his be— oh.

Oh.

_Oh._

McCree is… courting him? Or planning to, at least. He isn’t exactly sure how he should respond to this.

He stares dumbly at McCree as the other man opens the window wide.

“Hanzo!” McCree gives him a nervous smile. “You’re back!”

Hanzo continues staring at him with an unreadable expression

McCree clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.  “Not gonna get in? Looks mighty cold out there.”

Hanzo blinks, before getting into the room, still staring. McCree chuckles nervously, hand pressing down on his hat.

“Wasn’t really expectin’ for you to go through the window.”

“It was faster than climbing up the stairs,” Hanzo replies carefully.

“Ah, right,” McCree says with a strained smile, before looking to the side, muttering something about damn ninjas.

The cowboy cleaned up nice, he has to admit as he takes in the dark red button down and jeans that replaced his earlier winter wear. He is suddenly aware of the snow still on his clothes and of how mussed up his hair must be from the wind.

“I—”

“Uh—”

They stop. McCree chuckles once more, voice still tinged with nerves.

“Go ahead.”

“What you are doing with…” Hanzo trails off, eyeing the flowers on the mattress and the guitar and the corner. “Were you planning to… court me?”

McCree flushes slightly, looking away. “Guess you could say that, yeah…” he mumbles.

“I see…”

“Yeah…”

“…”

“…”

They lapse into awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to do.

Hanzo is confused, to say the least. He’d always honestly thought McCree as straight. But  McCree’s interest in men doesn’t really surprise him all that much. After all, the man is a flirt by nature. Male, female, nonbinary, even omnics he’d flirt with. But McCree’s interest in _him_ of all people? _That_ baffles him.

His train of thought is interrupted by a cough, and he looks back at McCree.

“You, um, need some time to think?” He points his thumb towards the door, shifting his weight. “I could give you some space, if you’d like.”

Slowly, Hanzo nods. “I think that’d be best.”

“Right.” McCree nods back. “Right. I guess I’ll just…” he takes a step back, still pointing towards the door, “I’ll just leave you alone for now.”

Hanzo watches the other man’s back as he leaves the room, keeps his eyes on it until the door slam shuts and he hears a muffled series of curses. He sinks down onto the mattress, and his fingers brush against something. He looks down and sees the bouquet.

He picks it up, silently admiring the beautiful shades of reds and blues, fingers hovering over the delicate petals. He lists the flowers by name— red camellias, moss rosebuds, blue gladioli, and blue irises.

He distinctly remembers his mother, wind gently playing with her dark hair, smiling at him as they walked through the gardens of his home.

_“Flowers are a language of their own, Hanzo. And I can teach you that language, if you’d like to learn.”_

He tried, but as a young boy, he was more interested in swordplay and martial arts than in flowers. Now, more than ever, he regrets not paying more attention to her lessons.

\--

Outside, McCree paces in the middle of the stairway, head in his hands as he slowly tries to make sense of what just happened.

He was preparing to surprise Hanzo. Flowers were ready, music was ready, McCree was ready.

And then he wasn’t, because Hanzo climbed in through the _fucking window_.

And then Hanzo asked him if he was courting him.

And then Hanzo asked for some time alone.

Well, technically, he didn’t ask for it, but he said that it would be for the best and now McCree is panicking in some dusty stairwell in the middle of nowhere because he forgot that Hanzo was a _fucking ninja_.

He slaps his hand on his forehead. Then again. Then again. Then aga—

_BEEP BEEP_

He raises his head away from his hand, blinking at his beeping communicator. He sighs, taking it out. It’s probably just Winston waiting for an update. He snaps his communicator open, raises an eyebrow when he sees that it’s a video call, then shrugs his shoulders, answering it.

He was not expecting _Genji_ to pop up on the holovid, waving at him.

 _“Good afternoon, McCree!”_ his cheerful synthetic voice comes through. _“Are you aware of the vaguely palm-shaped red spot on your forehead?”_

McCree stares at him blankly, before slumping down with a heavy sigh, and Genji tilts his head inquisitively.

_“I take it your big confession didn’t go as planned.”_

He slumps further down.

“He needed some time alone.” He exhales noisily, closing his eyes. “I fucked it up, Genji.”

 _“… McCree, what did you do?”_ There is a subtle edge to Genji’s voice, the faintest threat if McCree even so much as _implied_ that he hurt his brother. Any other time, McCree would’ve teased him for being such an overprotective brother. Now, he just sighs, looking away in embarrassment.

“He climbed in through the window,” McCree mumbles.

_“… I’m sorry, what?”_

“He climbed in through the _fucking_ window,” McCree repeats louder, covering his face with his metal hand. “While I was preparin’ for… y’know.”

Genji stays silent, not moving, and McCree wonders for a second if the holovid froze. Then, a soft ‘pfft’ escapes Genji’s lips, his shoulders shaking, before he finally breaks. Loud laughter echoes through the empty stairwell, and McCree purses his lips.

 _“You… forgot that… that he is a ninja?”_ he asks, sentence interspersed with amused chuckles. _“_ That’s _how you ‘fucked it up’?”_

McCree’s cheeks go red, and he snaps at the still laughing Genji, “Ain’t my fault! How was I supposed to know climbing up the radio tower was faster than climbing up stairs? How was I supposed to know climbing up the goddamn tower was an _option_ in the first place?!

Genji lets out a few more chuckles, before stopping, shaking his head in mirth _. “Oh, McCree…”_

“And you told me he already _knew_!”

 _“Actually, I said that there was a possibility he already knew,”_ Genji corrects, but then he hums thoughtfully. _“Though now that I think about it, I suppose him not knowing makes sense. I occasionally forget how emotionally constipated he has become.”_

McCree opens his mouth to reply, but then he squints. “You’ve got somethin’ on your forehead right there,” he points out, watching as Genji brings up a hand to wipe at whatever it is.

_“I don’t— oh.”_

He jerks his head to the side, and McCree’s jaw drops at the smoking bullet hole that appears inches away from Genji’s head. He didn’t notice before, but now he is aware of the background noise coming from Genji’s end, gunfire and explosions.

“Are you—”

He doesn’t get to finish his question, the holovid suddenly changing perspective as Genji places it on a surface to his right. There, McCree gets a view of the cyborg drawing his sword, deflecting bullets while Tracer zips by, guns blazing.

 _“Widowmaker’s here!”_ she shouts before disappearing once more in a blink of blue light.

“Genji, y’reckless little— Are you in the middle of a goddamn mission right now?!” McCree almost yells out in disbelief, and he hears a faint voice amidst the gunfire ask _‘is that McCree?’_

A second later, D.Va’s mech comes into view, shields up. Genji picks up the communicator, putting it in front of her, and she smiles brightly.

 _“Hey, it is McCree! Hi, oppa!”_ She waves at him enthusiastically. McCree sighs, and waves back. _“So how did it go? Did he say ‘yes’? Does Genyatta really win the pool?”_

Genji answers for him. _“Hanzo needed some time alone.”_

_“Uh-oh. What did McCree do?”_

_“He forgot Hanzo’s a ninja.”_

_“Seriously?”_

McCree groans in embarrassment. “Get off my case already! Ain’t my fault! ‘Sides, don’t you guys have something better to do?”

 _“Don’t_ you _have something better to do?”_ Genji shoots back. _“Like talking to my brother, perhaps? Or working on plan B?”_

“Told you the man wanted some time alone,” McCree grumbles, watching the holovid turn upside down as Genji leaps into the air, communicator in hand. “And there is no plan B. And even if I _did_ have a plan B, what’s the use?” he adds dejectedly. “Already gonna get rejected anyway. Might as well stop makin’ a fool outta myself.”

The glance Genji gives him onscreen is unreadable behind his visor, but before McCree could think about it more, high-pitched laughter suddenly comes out of nowhere, increasing in volume until a smoking heap crashes down just behind the cyborg. The next moment, the smoking heap stands up, grin wide and hair flaming.

 _“Bloody brilliant! Oh, wait a tick. That’s McCree, ain’t it?! G’day, mate!”_ Junkrat waves, a hand on Genji’s shoulder, slightly pushing. _“So, did I win the bet? Or did Roadie win the bet? ‘Cause there’s no way you got ‘im to root with you with just some flowers and a song!”_

“Gee,” McCree drawls, “really ‘preciate the amount of faith y’got in me.”

Junkrat blinks onscreen, before turning to Genji. _“So what crawled up his ass and died?”_

_“He thinks he’s been rejected.”_

_“Ooooh. What happened?”_

_“Hanzo needed some time to think about it.”_

_“Ah, so Roadie_ did _win the bet.”_ Junkrat shoots him a pitying look, and McCree feels the urge to punch it off. _“Don’t worry, mate. Always more fish in the ocean. Oh, and y’might wanna turn ar— ‘ey!”_

Genji elbows Junkrat, facing the communicator away from the lanky Australian. _“What Junkrat means to say is_ _that you have a really bad habit of jumping to conclusions. Even if he handles his own emotions as well as a blowfish, and even if he is sometimes dense especially when it comes to matters of the heart, Hanzo is not going to lead you on. If he says he needs time to think about it, he will think about it. Unless explicitly stated, you have not been rejected. Trust me. Just be patient with him.”_

“Pretty damn sure I’m awaitin’ rejection,” McCree mumbles, before letting out another sigh, running his hand through his hair. “But thanks, I guess.”

 _“You are welcome.”_ Genji pauses, before continuing in a light tone. _“Oh, and you forgot something again.”_

McCree furrows his brows. “Back at the base? Pretty sure I didn’t leave anythin’ behind—”

_“My brother is a ninja, McCree.”_

What the fuck was Genji going on about? Because McCree’s pretty damn sure he’s _never_ gonna forget that fact ever agai— wait.

_Mierda._

He closes his eyes and heaves another sigh. _Mierda._

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

Genji only waves, the smile on his face unseen but evident in his tone. _“Hello, anija!”_

Soft footsteps behind McCree make him tense. He chances a glance and looks over his shoulder. He expects a scowl or a glower. He gets neither. Instead, the corners of Hanzo’s mouth are tugged down into an exasperated grimace, looking more tired than angry.

“A blowfish?”

Genji shrugs. _“It seemed like a good comparison at the time.”_ He smoothly transitions into Japanese, tone airy and light. McCree watches as Hanzo’s eyes widen just a fraction at whatever his brother said.

He bristles, replying with a curt tone, and even in the poorly lit stairwell, McCree’s sharp eyes manage to catch the faint blush on sharp cheeks, the way dark eyes seem to look away from the holovid in slight embarrassment.

Before he could think about it more though, Hanzo’s sudden alarmed yell brings him back from his thoughts. McCree flicks his gaze towards the holovid once more, the video spinning until it slowed to a stop, the camera skewed and showing soil and the roots of a tree.

They both wait with bated breath, Hanzo walking forward until McCree could feel their arms brush.

A few moments later, there is the soft sound of footsteps on earth. Then, a triumphant cry. _“Found it, luvs!”_

The camera moves, and soon, they see Tracer, grinning wide at the camera, before turning around. _“Genji! Think fast!”_

She throws the communicator, and the holovid spins. McCree feels slight nausea creep up on him, but then the camera abruptly stops its spin. The camera moves again and this time, Genji appears onscreen.

McCree sighs in relief. “Goddamn it, Genji. You got us real worri—”

“What were you thinking?! You fool!” Hanzo all but shouts. “Stop being so reckless!”

 _“Aw, you_ do _care,”_ Genji laughs a bit, before waving dismissively with his other hand. _“Don’t worry, Hanzo. I’m fine.”_

“You were nearly _not_ fine,” Hanzo growls out. “You should be more careful. If D.Va hadn’t warned you in time—”

 _“I’m_ fine _, anija.”_ McCree couldn’t see, but he just knows Genji is rolling his eyes.

This is how they must’ve been when they were young, he realizes, and he feels a smile tug at his lips, which he immediately wipes off once Hanzo turns to him, mouth pressed thin.

McCree shrugs. “Man’s right. Li’l mistake would’ve cost ya.”

Genji scoffs. _“Of course you think Hanzo’s right. You’re_ courting _him.”_

Hanzo splutters in a rare moment of discomposure while McCree’s mouth opens in mortification.

“Genji, you li’l _shit_ —”

 _“And speaking of which,”_ he continues smugly, _“I believe that the two of you have some unfinished business to do. And I think Winston’s been trying to call me. Goodbye, brother! Good luck, McCree!”_

“Now hold o—”

“Genji—”

And with a final wave from Genji, the holovid blips into nothing, leaving McCree and Hanzo alone once more.

McCree glances at Hanzo, and then abruptly looks away when he makes eye contact.

There are a few moments of awkward silence, before Hanzo huffs silently.

“McCree,” Hanzo says, and McCree feels his stomach clench nervously. “We need to talk.”

Fuck. There is sweat on his palm, and he self-consciously wipes it off the back of his jeans, his metal hand hooked onto one of his belt loops. Fuck. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Yeah,” he replies, still not meeting Hanzo’s eyes. “Reckon we do.”

Then, he hears the soft taps of Hanzo’s boots walking away, and he looks up in surprise.

“Wait, where y’going?”

Hanzo pauses midstride, looking at McCree over his shoulder, before looking away, lips thin.

“I think it would be best if we discuss this inside the room,” he says softly, almost nervously, before marching forward once more.

McCree looks at his retreating back for a few seconds, then takes a deep breath. Time for the verdict. He follows Hanzo back, steeling himself.

\--

When he enters their room, the first thing McCree notices is the bouquet, now placed in a cracked dusty old vase that Hanzo must have found somewhere, the bright flowers standing out against the frost covered windows.

The second thing he notices is Hanzo standing next to it, his lips pursing the way they do whenever he’s nervous. It’s almost funny how tense and unsure Hanzo looks, and McCree feels something akin to relief, knowing he isn’t the only one.

The door clicks shut behind him, and Hanzo slowly tears his gaze away from the floor and meets McCree’s. Hanzo works his jaw hesitantly, and McCree keeps silent, waiting.

He huffs silently, before finally saying, “I do not know what you want from me.”

“An answer would be nice,” McCree replies quietly.

A conflicted expression crosses Hanzo’s face. “I do not understand. Why are you courting me?”

“Is it really that hard to believe? ‘Cause listen,” McCree wet his lips, taking a breath, “I really, _really_ like you, alright? I like spendin’ time with you talkin’ ‘bout anything and nothing. I like just bein’ with you, and,” he bites his lower lip, “and I’d really like to try bein’ in a relationship with you.”

Hanzo looks shocked, and McCree starts to think that maybe that was too much too soon. But before he could apologize, Hanzo beats him to it.

“I’m sorry, but…”

McCree’s breath hitches, feeling as if he was just stabbed in the heart. _I guess he doesn’t like me then_. He lets his head fall forward in defeat, and he almost misses Hanzo’s next words.

“I really do not understand. Why _me_?”

McCree blinks, looking back up and his heart clenches at how downright confused Hanzo looks.

“Why you?”

Hanzo nods.

“Well,” a furrow forms between McCree’s eyebrows, “because it’s _you_.”

“What?”

“I mean, yeah, yer pricklier than a cactus and meaner than a skunk at times, but that’s not all of you,” McCree utters with absolute sincerity. “You’re clever, alright? And the best goddamn shot I’ve ever seen. And you _care_. You don’t show it much, but you care— Genji, Hana, Lena. Hell, you attend Junkrat’s barbeques despite not eatin’ anything.”

He takes a step forward, confidence growing with every word, eyes not leaving Hanzo’s.

“I know you feel a whole lotta guilt for everything that’s happened, but you don’t let it get to ya. You do your best to make up for it all, and I think that’s real admirable. And,” he chuckles, a grin on his face, “you bein’ the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen definitely don’t hurt one bit.”

The faintest pink dusts Hanzo’s cheeks, and he looks away. “Foolish man,” he mutters, but there is no bite to it, and that gives McCree rising hope.

“But that’s not a ‘no’, is it?” he asks quietly.

Hanzo purses his lips. “This is a lot to take in, McCree.”

“Take yer time,” McCree says, a bit disappointed but still understanding. He moves to take a step back, but then Hanzo’s hand is wrapped around his and he stills.

Hanzo works his jaw hesitantly. “It is not a ‘no’,” he says finally, words slow and carefully considered, “but it is not a definite ‘yes’ either.”

He meets McCree’s gaze, and the gunslinger feels the hand around his tighten unsurely.

“I do not know if I can give you what you want from me, and I am unsure of my exact feelings for you, but,” he looks down shyly, and damn if McCree’s heart isn’t beating like a jackrabbit’s, “I am willing to try this, to try… us.”

“Darlin’, sweetheart,” McCree croons, grin wide and reaching both ears, heart soaring. He brings Hanzo’s hand up to his mouth for a few seconds, pressing it against his lips, feeling moments away from bursting with joy. “All I want is whatever you’re willin’ to give li’l ol’ me. And as for the second part, don’t you worry.” He reaches for the bouquet, pulling out a single blue iris and presenting it to Hanzo with a lopsided grin. “That’s what courtship’s for, and we’ve got a whole week to ourselves.”

Hanzo takes the iris, twirling the stem as he looks at it, a smile on his lips, small and soft and genuine. McCree’s breath catches at the sight. _Gorgeous._

Hanzo looks up, smile still on his face, fingers moving so that they intertwined with McCree’s. McCree thinks the grin on his face might as well be permanent now.

“Then I guess we better get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am really, really, really sorry for the long wait. Three reasons why this took so long: 1) ~~hell~~ school, 2) my nonexistent ability to manage time, 3) difficulty in deciding the ending.
> 
> Next thing, **thank you** so much to _everyone_ who has read this fic, left a comment, or even just a kudos! Writing this fic has given me a lot of confidence. In fact, I think that this is the most I've ever written in a year. Once again, thank you! You guys are the absolute best :)
> 
> And lastly, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~(Also, quick question. Which friendship fic should I focus on first: Zenyatta and Widowmaker, or Hanzo and Mercy?)~~


	20. "There's two theories to arguin' with a woman. Neither one works."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me celebrating Sombra's release.

All he wanted was a glass of water.

“And _then_ she just turns to me and glares at me like I was to blame and I’m just standing there confused, like what did I even do, _amiga_?”

He ran his metal hand over his face as Sombra talked animatedly on the kitchen holoscreen, having hacked Athena’s servers. The entire kitchen was dark, the pale blue light from the holoscreen the only source of light. He glanced towards the corner of the screen. 1:53 a.m. It was too goddamn early for this shit.

“I tried to tell her that it technically wasn’t _my_ fault,” Sombra continued, seemingly not noticing his growing exasperation. She paused for a second, before shrugging. “Okay, maybe just a little bit.”

God, he needed sleep.

“But how was I supposed to know that Tracer wouldn’t blink out of the way to save the target? I mean, she did it once before, so—”

He sighed out loud, metal hand pinching the bridge of his nose, making Sombra pause. “That’s exactly why she didn’t.”

“Oh.” Sombra looked up thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

“Why are you even here?”

She let out a smug laugh, smirking. “I’m not saying hacking into your servers was easy, but…” she trailed off, staring at the back of her manicured claws.

“No, I mean why are you even here talkin’ to me?”

“Well, asides from you’re the only one awake who probably won’t set off the alarm, not that’d you’d be able to,” she brought up a few photos and videos, “you also appear to be the only person whose willing to talk to _everyone_ , even me.”

He glanced at the photos onscreen. A video of him and Lena in the dining room, one of him and Roadhog in the garage, even a slightly blurry photo of him and Widowmaker taken from that night in the underground parking lot. He stared at them blankly, before turning his attention back towards Sombra who was looking at him expectantly.

“So,” she leaned forward, “what should I do?”

He sighed again. “Can’t you just apologize for bein’ an ass towards her girlfriend?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “No way. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just following orders.” She shot him another expectant look. “Come on, _viejo_ , you got to have something.”

He closed his eyes, sighing for the umpteenth time that hour.

“Alright, first of all,” he raised a finger, “don’t call me that. Ain’t that old yet. Second thing,” he raised a second finger, “there are two theories to arguin’ with a woman.”

“And they are?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging. “Neither one works.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “Helpful.”

“Don’t give me that look,” McCree huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Just apologize to her. Or don’t. Don’t really care.” He tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “I’m barely awake as it is. I’m dog tired, ‘s what.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine." She gave him another smirk. Had McCree been more awake, he would've known she was planning something, but he was just about ready to collapse. "I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep, _viejo_.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She laughed. “ _Adios_.”

A stylized skull filled the screen for a few moments, before it disappeared, the holoscreen turning off. He waited, staring at the screen, and when nothing happened he finally let out a sigh of relief. Thank Christ.

He padded his way back towards his quarters, glass of water forgotten. As he pulled up his covers, he made a mental note to talk to Winston about securing the Overwatch servers. In the morning. First, sleep. He let out a breath of contentment as drowsiness took over his body, finally falling asleep.

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

He groaned, moving to shut off his alarm.

“What in the—”

He stared at the digital numbers. 7:00 a.m.

He grumbled, setting it back to 1:30 a.m. before going back to sleep.

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

“Fuck!”

He got up and glared at the clock which read 7:00 a.m.

Screw it. He unplugged the clock, threw it into his drawer, locked it for good measure, before finally settling back into his bed, eyes slipping shut.

Blissful silence.

He smiled.

[ _IF IT HADN’T BEEN FOR COTTON-EYE JOE, I’D BEEN MARRIED A LONG TIME AGO~_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEkXCYrQUAg)

[ _WHERE DID YOU COME FROM, WHERE DID YOU GO?_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEkXCYrQUAg)

[ _WHERE DID YOU COME FROM COTTON-EYE JOE?_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEkXCYrQUAg)

His eyes shot open and his mouth fell open. He laid there in defeat, just looking at the ceiling as the song continued playing overhead.

A bang that suspiciously sounded like an alarm clock being thrown into the wall came from the opposite room as Hana cussed in Korean.

“McCree, turn it off!” Fareeha yelled from the next room over.

Thuds from outside his door, and soon he heard Zarya shouting. “If little man does not stop stupid song, _I_ will!”

His communicator buzzed on his bedside table. Hanzo’s voice came through. _“Jesse, I_ swear, _if you do not stop, I am breaking up with you.”_

McCree just continued staring blankly at the ceiling, silently contemplating his life and wondering what on earth did he do to deserve this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [boop](http://annablosssom.tumblr.com/)


End file.
